


From My Hands, I Could Give You

by stargazerdaisy



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Rival Chefs, See if you can spot all the references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-11
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 01:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13330662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stargazerdaisy/pseuds/stargazerdaisy
Summary: Grant Ward is the executive chef at one of the premier restaurants in Los Angeles,Vue.  He's steeped in tradition, formality, and routine, and the high quality results they yield.  Skye is the unconvential food truck owner who challenges him in every way she can.  He's annoyed by this young pup upstart who is ignoring all the rules of conventional cooking and hospitality - she's way too casual, mixes weird flavors, doesn't cook things normally - doesn't she know there is a proper order and method?!  There is almost no common ground between them, beyond their love for cooking.  Yet, there is something that pulls them together and they find a connection they never expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/gifts).



> First and foremost, this is all Vince's fault. Months ago, he offhandedly threw the idea of a Rival Chefs AU at me and before I knew it, I'd gone off on a tangent and sketched out an entire fic. We kept talking about it for a few days, adding details and ideas. Then, it sat in my drafts for months until I finally sat down to write it out. This has spiraled beyond my initial plans, and has grown so much. Which brings me to my next point.
> 
> This is for Ves' birthday! She has always wanted a Restaurant AU and I am determined to make this a good one for her. Because it's gotten so much bigger than I had originally envisioned, the story isn't complete yet. But I couldn't leave my wonderful Ves hanging, so here is Chapter 1! The rest of the story will be posted when I have it completed, so there may be a bit of a wait, but it **will be coming** , I promise! 
> 
> In the meantime, HAPPY BIRTHDAY DARLING VES!!!!! I hope this lives up to your expectations and I can't wait to hear what you think of it. Love you lots and thank you for being my friend. <3 <3 <3
> 
> Last note, I promise. As always, thank you to Vince and Evie for holding my hand and giving me feedback and ideas and catching my errors. They make this a better story and me a better writer.

The chaos of the kitchen never bothered him. In fact, it rather soothed him. Actually, that wasn't exactly fair. There was no chaos in _his_ kitchen. A Grant Ward kitchen functioned like a well oiled machine, discipline and routine being ingrained in every worker as soon as they stepped foot through the door. It was more accurate to say the clamour and rush of the kitchen never bothered him. The rhythmic thumping of a knife cutting vegetables, the clang of pots and the spoons and spatulas moving inside them, the sizzle of food landing in hot pans - it was a comforting symphony to his ears. He had grown accustomed to the rise and fall over the years, even come to depend on its reliability. As he worked his way up through the ranks, he'd heard all manner of noise and knew the difference between simply busy and out of control. Tonight was a slower night at the restaurant; the low hum more subdued than on the weekends. In fact, the only reason he was even there was because there was a rush right before he was about to leave for the evening. When he saw that the staff was on the verge of getting overwhelmed, he decided to stay and help after he’d taken care of the week’s ordering. 

Near the end of the night, there was a brief hush, then the noise picked right back up. The quiet caught his attention. He looked up to see a familiar face. “Hey Trip,” he called. 

“Hey man,” his friend replied, grinning. “Still slumming it down here, I see.”

“Well, you know me. Just can't say goodbye to the mean streets of Beverly Hills.”

Trip chuckled and clapped Ward on the back. “So, how’ve you been?”

Ward shrugged. “Same old, same old. Not much new. How about you?”

“You know me. Living the dream down at Gigi’s.”

Ward snorted. “I still can’t believe you work there. When are you going to come back and have a grown up job again? Don’t the waitresses wear poodle skirts and roller skates? At least here you don’t risk the food rolling away from the customers.”

“They don’t have roller skates, as you well know,” Trip admonished. “Make fun all you want, but at least I enjoy my job. I get to make people smile everyday.”

“And I don’t?” Ward was affronted. You don’t get a Michelin rating like he had by making disappointing food. “I’ll have you know we have happy customers with every meal.”

“No, you have satisfied customers, there’s a difference. Tell me, when was the last time you made a toddler stop screaming because you added a whipped cream smiley face on his pancakes?” Trip challenged.

The horrified look on Ward’s face expressed just how he felt about the idea of a screaming toddler in the dining room. 

“Look man, you make amazing food. And this place has a sterling reputation. But I left for a reason. Gigi’s may not be world class, but it’s good, honest food and it makes people smile. That’s what I’m in it for. Not that I expect you to understand, Mr. Silver Spoon.” Trip injected enough warmth into the barb to let Ward know he was only joking. The two had been friends had been friends for over a decade, having met in culinary school. Somehow a friendship grew between stoic, standoffish Ward and gregarious, warm Trip. They had even worked together at Vue for a few years before Trip decided to leave and take the head chef job at Gigi’s Sunny Side Up Diner. 

Ward never understood why Trip would take such a step down. Vue was one of the premier restaurants in Los Angeles and working there was the way to make a good name for yourself. But Trip was adamant about moving on, even if it was to a kitschy themed spot where Elvis posters were all over the walls. He had tried to explain to Ward there was more to life than his resume, and that enjoying what he did and who he worked for were just as important. Despite it being a topic they could never come to an understanding on, the two had remained close. 

Trip glanced at Ward, sauteeing mushrooms and stirring a saucepan, then smirked. “Plus, look at this, I’m not the one chained to the stove right now. Speaking of, how soon can you get out of here?”

“I’m not chained here,” Ward said, rolling his eyes. “I just wanted to make sure everything was running smoothly.”

“Control freak,” Trip fake-coughed.

“Why am I friends with you again?”

“It’s my smile and my winning personality. No one can resist it.”

Ward snorted. “Sure, that’s it.”

“Of course it is. But again, how soon can you get out of here? There’s a new place I want to check out and you need to get out of your own kitchen once in awhile.”

Glancing at the clock, then around the kitchen, especially at the incoming orders, Ward answered, “Give me about 20 minutes, then I think I can head out. What is this place anyway?”

“It’s called 0-8-4. Heard of it?”

Ward shook his head. “Where is it?”

“Oh.” Trip’s eyes twinkled. “In that case, I’m not gonna tell you anything and you can just be surprised.”

* * * * *

“You brought me to a food truck?” Ward asked incredulously.

“Yep.” Trip was grinning ear to ear.

Ward was still confused. “But why?”

“Because no one I know has shut up about this truck for the last month, since Fitzsimmons raved about it on their blog. And I want to see what all the fuss is about.”

“It’s…painted like space… There are…aliens on the side…”

“So?”

“So…it’s just not professional.”

“Ward, I remember you once worked as a sign twirler in a hot dog costume. Let’s go check it out,” Trip urged. 

Ward muttered something under his breath, but followed his friend up to the truck. There was a short line, so he took advantage of the time to check out the menu. Chalkboard signs hung around the window, bright green the predominant color. As he studied it, he couldn't find any specific rhyme, reason, or theme to the options. Tacos, hot dogs (well, bratwursts), paninis, something simply called The Stew, even a PB & J. And an entire board dedicated to desserts. The lack of cohesion floored him. 

In what seemed like no time at all, he and Trip had reached the window. The tall man looking down at them was dressed more like a mechanic than a cook or server, flannel shirt hanging open over a grey tank top. “Evening, gentlemen. What can I get you?”

“Oh man, this all looks so good. What do you recommend?” Trip asked, Ward silent next to him. 

The man let out a low chuckle, immediately changing his appearance from slightly intimidating to relaxed and amused. “I wish I could give you an answer. But I can never seem to settle on a favorite before she changes the menu again. It's pretty much all good. I can tell you that the tacos are pretty popular and I haven't heard any complaints yet.”

Trip smiled and nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Why don't I get the tacos?”

“Excellent choice. And you, sir?” the server asked, turning to Ward.

Grant blinked at him for a second, glanced quickly at the board to his left, and seized on the item he figured was least likely to get screwed up. “Burger and fries.”

Trip guffawed. “Really? That’s what you go with? All these other options and you go with something you can get anywhere.”

Ward rolled his eyes and fired back, “Then I can judge it against something else. If the burger is good, then I can believe the rest of the stuff is good too.”

“Don’t worry,” the other man assured. “The burgers are amazing.”

Ward sniffed smugly at Trip, while he paid the bill.

“Here's your receipt. You’ll be order #47. We'll give a yell when it's ready.”

The man in the food truck was still chuckling to himself as he watched the two friends wander over to a nearby picnic table to wait. Walking a few feet to the back of the truck, he secured the order ticket in front of the cook. 

“Last order, at least for now,” he said. 

“And a judgmental one at that, it sounds like,” she responded, eyes dancing in amusement. 

“You heard that?”

“I’m not an idiot. We work in the same truck, for heaven’s sake. It’s not like you were far away.”

“And I'm sure you weren't eavesdropping at all,” he laughed. 

Her cheeks flushed slightly pink. “It is my business after all. Shouldn't I be aware of everything going on?”

“You say that like I haven't been here since Day 1, Skye. I'm pretty sure I know the truck better than you, considering I’ve personally replaced almost every nut and bolt on her.”

“You're right, Mack.” She leaned up to give him a peck on the cheek. “For the record, there's no one I trust more with the old girl. It's just… This is my baby. Now here, order #45 is ready. Go make some hungry people happy.”

With a last affectionate smile, Mack grabbed the baskets and headed to the front window, announcing the order. Behind him Skye continued to cook, preparing the next couple orders. By the time #47 was ready, no other customers had come to the truck. Mack reached for the baskets, ready to take them to the window and call for their recipients.

“Hold on,” Skye said, untying the straps of her apron, throwing it on its hook. “I need to see who the unbeliever is, so I can decide if I need to shun him.”

Her partner pointed over to the two men and Skye picked up the baskets with a smirk. “Be right back,” she said with a wink and then exited the truck.

“Hey. What up?” she greeted them as she approached.

Two faces turned to face her, one suspicious, the other welcoming.

“Hey girl,” Trip said. “Might you have some delicious grub for us here?”

Skye laughed. “Let me guess, you’re the tacos.”

“Guilty as charged,” he agreed, almost blinding her with his megawatt smile.

“Here you go,” she replied, handing him the basket. “Make sure to use the lime wedge. It really adds something.” She turned to face the other diner, who had a slight frown on his face. “That must mean you’re the burger connoisseur. I hope it lives up to your expectations.”

“We’ll see,” he mumbled, reaching for the basket. His hands faltered slightly when the woman leaned over to hand it to him and he got distracted by the open neck of her purple shirt. Diverting his gaze, hopefully before she noticed, he eyed the meal critically, looking at it from several angles, before finally picking it up and taking a bite of the burger.

While Ward was otherwise occupied, Trip spoke to the woman still lingering near their table. “So you work here?” he asked in between bites of his taco.

“You could say that,” she answered nonchalantly.

“Seems like a simple question,” said Ward gruffly. “Either you do or you don’t.”

Trip rolled his eyes at his friend’s prickliness, but Skye maintained her good humor. “I own the truck,” she said. “I’m not an employee per se, but I definitely do a lot of work here.”

“Dang,” Trip said. “Check you out.”

“You assumed it was Mack’s, didn't you?” Skye shrugged indifferently. “Most people do. They see the big, giant hulk of a man and assume he's in charge; as if there's no way the girl could possibly be in business for herself. That's okay, I like being underestimated. Makes it more fun when I prove them wrong.”

Trip held up his hands in defense. “I didn't have any clue who it belonged to. My surprise is because I'm not used to seeing owners be so hands-on with their restaurants.”

Hearing his explanation, Skye relaxed. “Fair point. It practically is Mack’s too. He's the one that fixed up the truck, almost single handedly, and he puts in almost as many hours as I do. He even cooks almost as well as me.”

Trip let out a big laugh. “Humble, I like it. Did he pick the space theme too?” 

Skye chuckled. “No, that was all me. I've got a thing for space and aliens, and, well, it just seemed fun.”

“What does 0-8-4 have to do with space?” Ward asked suddenly. 

“Nothing at all. When I finally got my hands on this beauty,” Skye gestured to the truck behind her. “She was a hunk of junk. But she still had her original license plates, 0-8-4-D-S-J. I couldn't come up with anything better, so I went with 0-8-4. Figured it would be a conversation starter, a bit of a mystery.”

He snorted in derision. “Yeah, sure.”

“Got _you_ talking, didn't it?” There was a slight edge to her tone, though the friendly smile remained on her face. 

Seeing Ward bristle slightly at her accurate callout, Trip redirected the conversation before the tension could build. “I gotta say, these tacos are amazing. Ward, you gotta try these.” 

“I’m good,” his friend replied shortly, taking a big bite of the burger in his hands, refusing to look at either of them. 

“And how’s the burger?” Skye asked. 

Ward swallowed and shrugged, “It’ll do.”

“Really? That’s all you have to say?”

“I mean… It’s pretty good.” It looked like it was killing him to get the words out, which only amused Skye more.

“Ignore him,” Trip broke in. “That’s actually high praise, coming from him.”

“Oh, is it?” Skye raised an eyebrow.

“It is,” Trip confirmed. “He’s just grossly allergic to actually giving compliments. The best Ward here can usually squeak out is a comment.”

Skye nodded, barely containing the mirth in her grin. “Well, maybe I’ll just let you two finish your meals in peace. I’m Skye, by the way. If you need anything, just holler.” 

Trip stuck out his hand, “Nice to meet you, Skye. My name’s Antoine, but everyone calls me Trip. This is Ward.” He nodded at the man sitting across from him. 

The two of them shook, while Ward pointedly looked away. Skye threw one more amused look at the scowling man, then retreated back to the truck.

When she was a safe distance away, Trip rounded on his friend. “What’s with you?” he demanded. “This beautiful woman, who can _cook_ by the way, is trying to talk to you and you have to get extra grumpy?”

“I’m not being grumpy,” Ward hissed back. “I just don’t see the need to go fawning all over her - I mean, her food. So she cooks a good burger, so what? Lots of people do.”

“Yeah, but you don’t like anyone’s food. And I mean anyone.”

“I like your food,” Ward grumbled.

“Doesn’t count, we learned to cook from the same people.” Trip studied him for another moment, then smirked. “Oh, I see what’s going on here.”

“And what is that?” Ward asked, annoyed. 

“You liked her food and you liked _her_.”

“Huh? What? NO.” Ward was horrified. 

Trip’s smug grin grew even bigger. “Yup, totally what is happening. You forget I’ve known you as long as I have. You’re good Ward, but even I could spot you checking her out.”

“Shut up,” Ward growled.

“Okay.” Trip went back to munching on his tacos.

“I hate you, you know that, right?” Despite the harsh words, there was no heat behind them, only the fondness and exasperation of a long time friendship.

“Sure, you do,” Trip flippantly replied.

A little while later, the men gathered up their trash and returned the plastic baskets to the truck. Skye was at the window when they approached, cleaning up the counter and getting ready to close for the night. 

“Thanks again, Skye,” Trip called.

“You’re welcome. I hope it was worth it.”

“Girl, you have a gift. We’ll be back,” he assured her.

“Hope so.” 

She gave them both a smile so full of warmth, Ward actually forgot to scowl for a moment. Seemingly without conscious thought, he found himself returning her wave. Surprise flitted across her face before her grin grew even wider and she tossed a wink at him. She turned back to finish her tasks in the truck and suddenly Ward found himself off balance. Their interactions had totalled all of five minutes, yet he had this irrational rush of warmth at her smile and a strong desire to come back. Not knowing what else to do with it, he packed that feeling away tightly in a box. There was no reason to think about the girl in the space themed food truck anymore.

* * * * *

A dark shadow was hovering near Ward’s motorcycle, when Trip turned back into the parking lot near Vue. Tense silence immediately descended on the cabin of the truck, as Ward’s shoulders tightened up and Trip let out a heavy sigh.

“Man, you’ve got to get out,” he said.

“Trip…” Ward warned. “Don’t do this.”

“Come on, Ward,” Trip protested, frustration bleeding into his tone. “You know I’m right. This may be one of the best places in town, but it’s not worth being under _his_ thumb. Garrett only keeps people around as long as they’re useful to him. The second they’re anything other than completely devoted to him, he turns on them. You’ve seen it happen. Hell, you saw it start to happen with me, but I left before he could completely sabotage me. I’m just afraid he’s going to do that to you and you’ll be left out in the cold, without any options.”

“I owe him,” Ward said wearily. 

“Yeah, yeah, heard that before,” Trip dismissed. “Just…think about it, okay? I swear I’m only looking out for you.”

“I know.” Ward paused. “You’re a good friend, Trip.”

A small grin broke through Trip’s stormy expression. “I am, aren’t I? You’re pretty damn lucky to have me.”

Ward rolled his eyes, a smirk appearing on his face as well. “You’re also completely ridiculous.”

“Never pretended otherwise,” Trip agreed. “Now, get out of my car and go deal with your boss. I have to get home.”

Ward climbed out of the truck and waved to his friend, then turned to face the man waiting for him.

“Been out having a nice night?” At face value, it was a perfectly polite question, but knowing Garrett, Ward could hear the censure underneath. 

“Yes sir,” he replied.

“Instead of being here, where you’re supposed to be?” Acid was dripping from Garrett’s tone.

“It wasn’t my night to be here,” Ward defended himself weakly. “I was only supposed to be here this morning for ordering and scheduling. I had that done, but stayed to help in the kitchen when it looked busy.”

“Yet I didn’t see you here when I came by to check in,” Garrett accused. 

Ward winced internally. “The rush was pretty much over.”

“Are you giving me excuses?” Garrett seethed. “Remember what I’ve done for you. You wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me. I haven’t put in all this effort to have you lose focus now.”

“I know,” Ward said. “I’m not losing focus, I promise.”

“See that you don’t,” Garrett spat, then spun on his heels and stalked off to his car.

Ward stood at his bike for a few minutes, reviewing what has just happened. These encounters always left Ward feeling ill at ease, but whenever he tried to analyze what exactly bothered him, he never got very far before the list of ways he owed John ran through his mind and the ensuing guilt quashed any other feelings. Garrett was who had given him a chance when no one else would. His family had turned their backs on him when he decided to move to LA and pursue a cooking career. They cut him off from their fortune and he’d been forced to make ends meet completely on his own. Not that he missed them in any way. Everyone was better off being as far from each other as possible. But Garrett was the one who had discovered Ward. He’d first heard of Ward when an old acquaintance asked him to see if he could help her grandson with connections in the LA restaurant world. Intrigued, Garrett did he own research, through a friend who was one of the instructors at the culinary school and heard all about the young man with loads of potential. Garrett offered him a job in his prestigious restaurant, and while it was hard work - John Garrett did not tolerate failure, ever - it was a chance Ward would not have gotten anywhere else. He worked his way up, learning everything he could, and proved himself to be an exceptional chef. Anyone who was anyone on the restaurant scene knew about Garrett’s golden boy. John loved to brag to others about how he’d been able to step back from Vue and let Ward take the reins. But when it was just the two of them, he wouldn’t let Ward forget what had been given to him and by whom. Not that John was always like this. Most of the time, especially in the beginning, he was quite encouraging and Ward would never deny all that the older man had taught him. There were skills that he probably would not have developed if it wasn’t for Garrett. Those were the reasons Ward knew he would never leave John or Vue. He owed everything to Garrett and he wouldn’t abandon him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye, the intrepid owner of 0-8-4, hasn't always enjoyed the security and stability that she does now. Thank goodness for wonderful people who came into her love along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty much all Skye backstory. But don't worry! Ward will be back in the next chapter. This was important to set up before carrying on with the rest of the story.

The phone buzzed again. Skye was awake just enough to register the noise and know what was causing it, but still quite far from actually having the desire to do anything in response. Sunlight was sneaking through her blinds and dragging her to consciousness far earlier than desired. She shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position and hopefully drift back to sleep. Just as she had found the right spot to angle her face away from any light, there was an odd shuffling noise outside her bedroom door. Mentally groaning, Skye knew exactly how the next few minutes would play out. Yet she still tried to ignore it, deluding herself that this wouldn’t be the end of her slumber. 

Sure enough, about 90 seconds later, the door opened and soft footsteps crossed the room. Skye held herself as still as a statue and kept her breathing even. Nevertheless, the bed dipped as the intruder slid in next to her. That feeling of being watched descended and Skye knew she was being scrutinized for any sign of wakefulness. 

After a moment, the silence was broken. “Skye,” Kara whispered. “Skyyyyyeee.”

Skye continued feigning sleep until a finger started poking her cheek, causing her to scrunch up her face and turn away with a grumble.

“I want an omelet,” the other woman said plainly.

“Leave me alone,” Skye growled. “I didn't get home until 2am. I need sleep.”

“But I need brain food. You don’t want me to fail all my classes, do you?” her roommate whined.

Skye pulled the covers over her head. “Then eat an actual brain. You probably have one in the fridge, next to the butter and sour cream.”

“I'm becoming a criminologist, not a pathologist,” Kara retorted. “I’m your girl for blood spatter and shell casings, but no thank you on the body parts.” 

“And yet you want me to get up and make you a breakfast where you feast on the carcasses and unborn of various animals.”

Kara merely shrugged. “Humans aren't nearly as delicious.”

An inelegant snort escaped from Skye. “The worst part is I'm not entirely sure you're kidding.”

Kara grinned wickedly. “I know.”

Playfully swatting her best friend's shoulder, Skye threw off the covers and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “Ugh, fine. I'm up. Let's go get you your stupid omelet and then maybe, just maybe, you'll be productive for the day.”

Kara’s eyes lit up and she scrambled off the bed to follow Skye. 

“You're making the coffee,” Skye called over her shoulder. 

“Already a cup on the counter,” Kara replied, entering the kitchen right behind her friend, then settled on one of the barstools at the counter. 

Moving about the kitchen with practiced ease, Skye quickly combined the ingredients for two omelets. There was no need to ask Kara what she wanted, she always wanted the same thing - cheese, sausage, and ham. No matter how much Skye tried to talk her into trying something new, or even just adding some vegetables, Kara staunchly refused. She likes what she likes was her justification. Skye on the other hand never had the same thing twice in a row, if she ever repeated. This morning found the egg mixture stuffed with red bell peppers, sausage, and spinach. The pan sizzled as the meal cooked and Kara practically salivated at the scent filling the room.

Her fingers waggled as the plate slid in front of her. Taking the first bite, she closed her eyes and sighed in deep satisfaction. “You are a genius. You deserve sonnets written about your cooking prowess. Epic ballads singing your praises should be immortalized in the annals of history.”

“You say that every time I cook breakfast,” Skye said laughing.

“You deserve it every time,” Kara assured. “This is exactly what I needed. You are a queen.”

Skye mused for a moment, then nodded. “Queen Skye, I like that.” 

“You would,” Kara snorted.

“You know what else?” Skye asked. “Queens don’t do dishes. I cooked, you clean.”

“Nooooooo,” groaned Kara. “I hate the dishes.”

“And yet you showed no compunction about _waking me up_ to cook for you,” Skye retorted. “Plus, I promised Elena I’d come over and watch the girls so she could run some errands today. I better get ready for that and head over before Cece goes down for a nap, otherwise she’ll freak out when she wakes up and sees me there.”

“Oof, no one needs that. That baby’s little pout is heartbreaking,” Kara replied. 

“Tell me about it,” Skye agreed, smiling at the thought of Elena and Mack’s daughter. “Those two little girls are too cute for my own good. Heaven help us all if they ever figure out they’ve got me wrapped around their little fingers.”

“They’re pretty lucky to have such an awesome auntie,” Kara said.

Skye laughed. “I don’t know about that, but they definitely have some of the best parents ever.” At that thought, Skye’s smile was tinged with a touch of sadness, reflecting on her own lack of parents and a family. 

St. Agnes’ orphanage was the closest thing Skye had to a stable home as she grew up. Foster families only lasted a few weeks, the longest being five months, before she was back with the nuns. She never could decide whether it was better to stay with the nuns and miss out on the chance of family or let herself enjoy the dream of possibly having a family, only to have it end once again. After all, hoping for something and losing it hurts more than never hoping for anything. Yet, she could never quite stop herself from letting those seeds of hope take root. The last family she stayed with was when she was 14 and it was not one of her better experiences. Relief was all she felt upon her return to the orphanage, but even the sternest nuns worried when she stayed withdrawn and quiet for a couple of months. As a way to try to draw her back out of her shell (it was so unlike the Skye they knew), Sister Dorothy asked her to help with the annual rummage sale put on by the parish. 

For two weeks, Skye spent her afternoons accepting donations and organizing them by category. During that time, another volunteer was assigned to help her. Elena was 19 and home from college on a break, having been dragged here by her mother. Her family was very involved in the church and could be found at all the major functions. Skye normally kept her distance from the religious side of things; regardless of her gratitude for the orphanage, she only had a vague belief in a higher power. So she and Elena had never crossed paths before. But the older girl, with her ever present smile and ready laugh, immediately drew Skye in and by the time the rummage sale happened, they had become fast friends. The way Elena exuded such warmth and care for everyone, even while teasing and getting goodnaturedly exasperated with her mother, Mari, made Skye admire her. 

It wasn’t a one sided friendship either. Elena was truly friendly and kind to everyone she met, but Skye had a spark and snap to her that delighted the older girl as well. They recognized a fire in each other and while their specific circumstances were different, they both understood what it was like to be caught between two worlds - between your home life and the rest of the world. The Rodriguezes were a close knit family, full of love and loyalty, but as the daughter of Colombian immigrants, there were struggles in finding her place that her parents never quite understood. Feeling a bit alien and outside of the ‘normal American life’ was something Skye was intimately familiar with. Their friendship had not escaped the notice of either Elena’s parents or the sisters running the orphanage. Using the most subtlety she most likely ever possessed, Mariana found out the story of the teenage girl her daughter had befriended and immediately resolved to do what she could for her. An invitation to Sunday dinner was offered before introductions were even complete and before long, Skye had become an unofficial member of the extended Rodriguez clan. The nuns, knowing the family, encouraged the bond and Skye was given almost free rein to spend as much time with them as she wanted. It wasn’t the same as having a family of her own, there were still moments when she felt that sharp ache of knowing she didn’t belong, but it helped a lot more than all of her foster families combined. The Rodriguezes never deserted her or sent her away. They had accepted her, all of her. 

Mack joined the family a few years later, having met Elena at college. They dated for a few years before getting married and settling down in the same area as Elena’s family. At first, Skye was suspicious of the newcomer, not believing anyone could be good enough for her friend. But he won her over, showing her consistently that he was one of the best people she’d ever met and more than worthy of Elena. When Elena was all fire and sass, Mack was calm and collected. They balanced each other out beautifully, and Skye had tears in her eyes as she watched them exchange vows from her place as one of the bridesmaids. Not only had Skye found a surrogate big sister, but now she had the big brother she’d always hoped for as well. The couple even happily took her in when she had nowhere else to go.

When it was time to start the food truck, the only truck Skye could get her hands on was in desperate need of a lot of repair and love. She knew nothing about cars, let alone something like a truck with cooking equipment and appliances, but as a mechanic, Mack did. So, together, they spent many evenings and weekends slowly fixing it up. As they worked, Mack opened up about how impressed he was with her for starting this new business and how he wished he had the courage to do it as well. But he had a family to take care of and quitting his well paying job at the garage wasn’t going to put food on the table for Elena and their baby Gabriella. After several mentions, Skye challenged him on all the reasons he couldn’t, then told him that knowing Elena, she’d want him to be happy more than she worried about how much money they had. When they brought it up to his wife, she said the exact same thing. Yes, there were practical concerns like health insurance and housing and all of those adult things for their growing family. But she didn’t care at all if he was a mechanic or a lawyer or a cook, as long as he was happy. As if a sign from the universe, the pieces fell into place and Mack quit his job and joined Skye in the truck. 

It was slow going at first, but as Skye learned how to promote the truck via social media, they ended up with quite a following. It was a modest success, which enabled Skye to finally move out of Mack & Elena’s living room and into an apartment with a roommate. No one ever expects to meet their best friend from a Craigslist ad, yet that was exactly what happened. Kara’s roommate had just moved out, moving on to a new city, and she needed someone quickly to fill the spot. When the two women met, their connection was solid enough that they decided to give living together a shot. 

The first few weeks together were fine. Each woman focused on her own business, coming and going as needed. Skye’s schedule tended to skew late, as lunch and dinner were her best selling times. The truck would stay open until late on the weekends as well. Some nights she didn’t get home and into bed until almost 2am, after closing down, cleaning up, and moving the truck for the night. None of that bothered Kara as she tended to be up at all hours. Graduate school and a part time job kept her busy and changed her schedule almost every day, it seemed. Free time was such a luxury that she pounced on it whenever it came up, usually taking the form of binge watching something ridiculous and eating her body weight in gummy bears. 

One such afternoon, Skye walked in on Kara wrapped up in a blanket on the couch, three empty cellophane bags around her, and the TV at full volume, while Kara sang along at the top of her lungs.

Skye stood in the doorway to living room and just stared. Blinking, looking between Kara and the TV, as if it was such a shocking sight, she didn’t know how to process it. It took Kara a moment to realize Skye was even there, because she was so invested in the show. But when she did notice, her face turned bright red and she stammered, trying to figure out what to say.

“I….uhh…..um…...hi?” she mumbled. “I was, uh, just watching something.”

Skye eyed the TV critically for another moment then walked resolutely over to the couch, and motioned for Kara to scoot over. “So this is Season 2, right?”

Surprised, Kara slid to the side to make space for her roommate. “Yeah, it’s the substitute episode with Gwyneth Paltrow.”

“Ooohhhh, I love this one,” Skye cooed. “I can’t listen to ‘Umbrella’ without picturing this.”

The two of them settled down to watch the McKinley High School Glee Club and their shenanigans. It only took a few hours, but that afternoon, watching the goofy melodramatic musical show, singing together and sharing snacks, cemented their friendship. They went from being roommates to being best friends who told each other everything and teased and bickered and laughed hysterically, even when no one else could understand a word of what they were saying. 

It had been just over two years since Skye moved in with Kara and approaching three since 0-8-4 had been started. Business was steady, life was stable, and for the first time in her life, Skye felt something close to secure. She had no interest in dating, her last relationship having ended spectacularly badly, no matter how much Elena scolded and encouraged in that big sister way of hers. “There will be plenty of time for dating later,” Skye assured her. “I just need to concentrate on my business right now.”

Things took off even more after a very enthusiastic, glowing review by the well known food bloggers Fitzsimmons. They had stumbled across her truck one night, by pure happenstance, and were so impressed by her food, that they told their vast readership about it. Almost overnight, sales exploded and customers lined up wherever she managed to land that day. It was almost more than she and Mack could keep up with. But she loved it. 

She loved getting to see people try new things and enjoy them. She loved getting to meet all kinds of people and hear their stories. She loved the challenge of a big rush, cooking and serving orders as fast as she could, while still giving the food all the love she always did. And the fact that she got to do it all with Mack, was not only the best job experience she’d ever had, but it also helped her feel like she was paying back part of the generosity and love that they had shown to her over the years. Which was also why she offered to babysit anytime she could. She loved the Mackenzie girls as much as if they were her own flesh and blood, and was thrilled getting to spend as much time as possible with them. Helping out Elena and Mack made it even better.

“Elena, I’m here,” Skye called, letting herself into their house. She may not live there anymore, but she was still family and was over often enough that her having a key was easier for everyone.

“Skyyyyyyyyye!!!!” came a familiar shriek as a tiny ball of dark curls and energy careened into her legs.

“Gabi!” Skye squealed, swinging the three year old up into her arms. “How are you doing, princess? Did you get taller since the last time I saw you? I think you did.”

The little girl giggled. “I have a new kitty,” she told Skye earnestly.

“You do? What is her name?”

“Sophie,” she explained. “She’s white with black stripes. Want to see her?”

“I absolutely do,” Skye answered. “But in just a bit. Your mama is going to head out for a little bit, so I need to check in with her and Cece before she does. Then I can go meet Sophie.”

“Okay,” Gabriella said, before bouncing off back to the living room.

“Back here!” Elena called back, beckoning Skye into the kitchen. 

The scene that greeted Skye was one of utter domesticity. Yesterday’s mail was on the counter, halfway through being sorted. Sunlight was streaming through the windows, highlighting a tray of muffins on the stove. There were crumbs on the counter and dishes in the sink. And a happy, gurgling 6 month old in the high chair, trying valiantly to wrestle the spoon away from her mother, who was patiently feeding her mashed bananas.

“No, no, mi querida,” Elena cooed. “I know you want the spoon, but you need to eat first. Then I’ll let you play.”

“Morning, Elena,” Skye said, giving her friend a hug from the side, then dropped a kiss on the baby’s head. “And good morning to you, Cece. Are you giving your mom a hard time? Good. She needs someone to keep her on her toes.”

“And you don’t do that?” Elena replied, familiar exasperation in her voice.

“Oh, I definitely do.” Skye winked. “But I can’t be here all the time, so someone has to pick up my slack. I need to know I can depend on Cece.”

The two friends chuckled and Skye settled in another chair at the table. “Do you want a muffin?” Elena offered, waving at the stove behind her.

“Thanks, but Kara dragged me out of bed stupidly early this morning to make her breakfast. So I’m stuffed already.”

“Good for her,” Elena teased. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have been here until noon.”

Skye laughed back. “Fair enough,” she agreed. “Now tell me what kind of shenanigans my nieces have been getting into lately.”

Elena launched into a couple stories of the girls who had become her world. Skye was howling with laughter by the time Cece’s bowl was empty and the little one’s face was cleaned up. 

“She’ll probably be ready to go down in about 20 minutes. Make sure she has her pacifier and blanket, but no pillows in the crib,” Elena fussed.

“Elena, relax,” Skye hushed, settling Cece on her hip. “I know all of that. Remember, I’ve been helping with her since the day she was born.”

“I know, I know,” the mother acknowledged. “I just can’t help it. I trust you, Skye.”

 

“Thank you,” Skye said smiling, feeling a little gush of pride, because she knew Elena didn’t trust just anyone with her children. “Now it’s time for you to go. You have errands to accomplish and Gabi and I have plans with the new cat. I can’t believe she talked you into that, by the way.”

A hearty chuckle burst out of Elena. “It’s a stuffed animal, Skye. I’m still against having pets. Not while I have these two squirrelly little munchkins.”

Cece giggled as her mother tickled her, cuddling against Skye’s shoulder. “Okay, off with you now,” Skye admonished. “See you soon.”

“Adios!” Elena called, exiting the house. 

 

Three hours later, Elena arrived home to find the three girls cuddled up on the couch. Gabi was tucked in against Skye’s side, wholly focused on the phone in her hands, while Cece was on Skye’s lap, leaning back very relaxed against her chest. For her part, Skye looked just as at home as either of the children, a content smile on her face as Cece rubbed her eyes and snuggled in a little more. 

“Tell me you didn’t spend the entire time watching videos,” Elena said.

Skye startled slightly, not having heard her friend come in. She looked down at the two girls then back up to their mother. “Not even close. Cece got up about 10 minutes ago and wasn’t exactly thrilled to be awake, not that I blame her, so Gabi suggested we show her Bubble Guppies songs. I gotta admit, these aren’t terrible. And it worked, she calmed down as she adjusted to the land of the living.”

“She’s her father’s daughter,” Elena explained. “Waking up sunny has never been a talent of his.”

“Cece, I get you,” Skye said seriously, looking the squirming baby in the eyes before handing her off to the mother she was reaching for. “She slept for a good two hours, during which Gabi, Sophie, and I had high adventures. I can’t tell you everything, pact of secrecy and all, but just know, your house is safe from marauders. They’ve been warned, convinced of the error of their ways, and sent packing to convert all their pirate friends to the right side.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Elena answered. 

Extracting herself from the couch, Skye stood and stretched. “Sorry, Gabi, but I need to take my phone back now. I have to go get some things for the truck.”

“No, Tía Skye!” the three year old cried. “Stay!”

“Honey, I wish I could. But your daddy has been spending all day working on the truck. I should probably help but at least getting supplies. Can’t let him think he does all the work.” Gabi giggled at Skye’s wink. “Plus, you want him to come home soon, don’t you? The sooner I get out there, the sooner he comes home.”

“Okay,” Gabriella agreed. “Send Daddy home.”

“And make sure he eats something, please,” Elena asked. “That man forgets to feed himself, then turns into a grumpy mess.”

“Don’t I know it,” Skye commiserated. “I have to force him to eat sometimes. I’m pretty sure they got the inspiration for those Snickers commercials from him. I’ll make sure he is properly fed before returning him to you.”

A final chuckle, kiss, and hug for everyone and Skye was out the door, heart filled with warmth and love for those who had become her family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't completed the story in full yet. But it is coming along and I didn't want to make you guys wait for this chapter. Thanks for bearing with me during the long process.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Skye stumbles into Ward & Trip again, sparks fly, but not exactly in the most enjoyable way. The exchange leaves them both feeling a bit unsettled. How they each manage to get under the other's skin so immediately and intensely is baffling. As more is revealed about Garrett and Ward's relationship, there is a chance to let down their walls and maybe even make a connection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, it's been 84 years since I last published. The good news is, I finally finished this AND the next chapter is just about ready to go! So I'll be publishing that soon too. I decided to publish this as I go, as opposed to waiting until it was entirely finished. But it's a complex story that takes a lot of time and work to develop the way I want it to, so it's slow going. Thank you for sticking with me. It will be finished some day, I promise.

It felt like she'd been running all day long, with barely a chance to breathe or grab a snack, let alone sit down and actually relax. Even now, she was heading back to the truck after what had to have been four billion or so errands. Skye was so focused on combing through the To-Do lists in her head, checking off this, adding that, that she didn't register the solid presence directly in front of her until she crashed into it. 

Her cell phone went flying one direction, her keys another, and three of the four bags made a valiant attempt at escape, heading for the ground. She snatched at them, managing to reclaim two before they hit the floor. Unfortunately, the bread bag wasn't so lucky, the contents bouncing up at the initial impact, then scattering. 

“Crap!” she cried, quickly falling to her knees to gather the wayward items.

“What the?” a voice muttered above her. It was then she realized that she had walked straight into a person.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” she blurted out, jumping back to her feet in a rush to apologize. “I wasn’t paying attention at all. Are you okay?”

A deep chuckle resonated from her victim. “Yeah, I’m fine. It’ll take more than a loaf of french bread to take me out.”

The voice sounded familiar and she looked more closely at the man in front of her; something about that grin was recognizable. A second later it slotted into place.

“Trip?” she asked.

“Skye!” he answered back, recognition lighting in his eyes as well. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“And by see, you mean get attacked by my ever impressive lack of coordination?”

He laughed again, and the sound began to put her at ease. “No harm, no foul,” he assured. “Like I said, it will take tougher stuff than that to get rid of me.”

“Still,” she said. “I feel awful. I was so wrapped up in my own thoughts I didn’t even see you.”

“What’s got you so preoccupied?” said a new voice.

It was only then that Skye realized Trip wasn’t alone. Standing behind him was the same uptight guy, who reminded her of a T-1000, from the night at her truck. The one who ordered the burger and looked like swallowing glass would have been more comfortable than admitting he liked the food. He’d been a bit standoffish, for sure, but something about the look he gave her when they parted ways had left her with the impression that there was more the Ward than first meets the eye. However, the sneer is his tone this time wasn’t exactly helping his case. Not that it wasn’t anything she hadn’t dealt with before. 

“Just a million different things for the truck,” she answered. “I try to cram all my errands into one day, so that I can just focus on the truck the rest of the time. Unfortunately for Trip here, that meant I was on complete autopilot while trying to simultaneously count how many tomatoes are left in the fridge and if the saucepan can make it another few weeks or if I need to replace it now.”

“Good thing you got me before the frying pan. This might have ended quite differently,” Trip said with a wink.

Skye laughed, even as she grew embarrassed over the mishap. It wasn’t like her to be so distracted that she doesn’t even see something or someone in front of her. And to think, if she had already have gotten the pan, then either Trip or Ward might have been sporting some very un-fun bruises. But at least she’d slammed into Trip. Ward didn’t look like he’d have reacted with the same grace and nonchalant attitude that Trip did; he already looked annoyed at the interruption. 

The first time she’d seen them, there was no denying Ward had that whole tall, dark, and handsome thing going for him. If only his face wasn’t permanently stuck in a scowl, his cheekbones that could cut glass would be even more evident. It made her wonder just what it would take to make him smile and how that might transform his entire countenance. From her scant experience with him, it didn’t seem like smiles came easily or often to him. Her mind idly began to wonder why that was. Before she got too far down that track, she pulled her thoughts back to the present and heaved a sigh, “I probably should just get a new one while I’m here. Better to be prepared than have a handle crack off in the middle of the dinner rush.”

“Are you sure you want to get one here?” Trip inquired, glancing around. This store was your average home goods store, with decent options for most people to use at home. But restaurants use their equipment so much, and in so many ways, that consumer-grade often ends up breaking down much more quickly. “I know a great restaurant supply store over near Gigi’s that has nearly every pan you could dream of, and pretty decent prices. At least as far as restaurant quality goes.”

Skye smiled back. “Good to know. Wait, how do you about the restaurant supply store?”

“Because I get my supplies there,” Trip said.

Skye looked at him quizzically for a moment. She was pretty sure she knew why, but she didn’t want to make assumptions either.

“I’m the head chef at Gigi’s Diner,” he supplied. 

“Oh!” she said, eyes lighting up with recognition. “I love that place! Elena and I take the girls there every so often. How long have you been there?”

“Only about a year,” he answered. “I actually used to work with this big lump over here-” he gestured to Ward, “-but it was time for me to move on and Gigi’s has been great.”

“So that means you’re a chef too?” she asked, turning to Ward.

“Yes,” he said shortly.

Rolling his eyes, Trip offered a further explanation. “We went to culinary school together and he got me my big break over at _Vue_. Have you heard of it?”

“Have I heard of it?” Skye scoffed. “ _Everyone_ has heard of _Vue_. It’s supposed to be the best menu in LA. I’ve heard you’ve served three former Presidents.” 

“Four, actually,” Ward said smugly, arrogance mixed with confidence coloring his tone.

The news that both men were not only chefs, but had worked or do work at one of most highly praised establishments in the business took a minute to absorb. And they had come to _her_ truck. All of a sudden, she was struck by nerves, feeling quite out of her depth. Before she started squirming, she decided it was time to make a retreat.

“Wow, that’s impressive,” she said. “Well, I better get back to my pan shopping and let you get on with your day. Wish me luck on not attacking any other unsuspecting victims.”

“Don’t you want the name of the store?” Trip asked. “Here let me write it down for you.” He pulled out a business card from his wallet and quickly scribbled the name and address on the back of it.

Taking the small paper from him and shoving it in her pocket, she smiled gratefully. “Thanks Trip, I really appreciate this. I’ll definitely check it out. But I might as well get one now. I’m here, aren’t I?” 

From her left, she could hear the clearly judgement huff.

She whirled to face him head-on. “What is your problem?” she demanded. 

“You!” he shot back. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, but you don’t even know the difference between a stainless steel and a copper pan and which one is better.”

Skye was shocked by the outburst. “Oh my gosh, are you serious right now? It’s a _pan_. You heat it up and it cooks the food. What is the big damn deal?”

Ward scoffed. “Only an amateur would say that.”

“Ward-” Trip tried to break in.

“Where do you get off calling me an amateur?” Skye accused, temper flaring.

“Well, that’s the word for non-professionals,” he sneered. “You know, people who do something as a hobby.”

Any thoughts she had about his broad shoulders and chiseled jaw abruptly vanished, leaving only anger and defensiveness. “This isn’t a hobby for me, jackass. It’s my business, it’s my _life_. And you have no right to be acting all holier-than-thou. What difference does it make how I cook my food, as long as I do it well?”

He snorted derisively. “I guess it doesn’t matter. It’s not like you’re ever going to make it if you insist on being so unconventional.”

“Grant!” Trip interjected sharply, glowering at his friend. “That’s totally uncalled for. Back off, now.” 

Ward rolled his eyes but closed his mouth. While he maintained an air of superiority, something in his gut nagged at him. The hurt that flashed through Skye’s eyes before they filled with fire wasn’t something he was altogether comfortable with having caused. He didn’t even know her, let alone _like_ her, so why should he care if she was hurt or not? He was only telling the truth. Except… There was something about her specifically that threw him off balance. Something that brought out his antagonistic side, like all he wanted was to see her react to him, and this was the only way he could think of to provoke it. Unsettled by the whole exchange, Ward turned away. 

“Skye, I'm really sorry,” Trip apologized. “I don't know what got into him. He's normally fit to be seen in public.” The glare Trip threw at his friend was nothing short of intense. 

“It's fine, Trip,” she dismissed. “Trust me, it's nothing I haven't heard before. But I do need to get going. Thanks again for the tip.”

She forced a tight smile, which he returned with a nod, then she headed off down another aisle. 

Once she was out of earshot, Trip rounded on Ward. “The hell is wrong with you?!”

“Hey!” Ward protested. “It’s not like I'm wrong!”

“Like you would even know,” Trip growled. “Sometimes I'm not sure if you've got your head shoved that far up your own ass or Garrett's, but you've really got to pull it out and look at the rest of the world. You had no right to tear her down like that. Especially considering you liked her cooking!”

The reminder of Skye's burger made his conscience yell rather uncomfortable thoughts at him. Trip was annoyingly correct and Ward knew he had been out of line. Whatever his inner monologue, Ward was known for playing his cards close to the vest and staying silent. Yet he couldn't stop himself from saying something to her, even if it was rude and unnecessary. Something about this woman, with whom he'd spent a grand total of eight minutes, brought out something in him even he hadn't seen before. The fact that she could get such a reaction out of him, without even seeming to try, was alarming. Trip’s words from the night at the food truck about how he _liked_ Skye came rushing back. But no way could that be it. Ward had been attracted to women before and none of them had elicited this kind of response. What made her so different?

It had to be the way she completely disregarded convention and established tradition when it came to cooking. If his professors got a glance of her hokey alien decor or her menu with no cohesive thread tying it together, they would be beside themselves. There was a science, an expected order to running a restaurant, and Skye seemed determined to flout that. 

That had to be the reason he was so bothered, rather the way her nose crinkled when she laughed or the way the light reflected off her glossy hair. Those observations, as chagrined as he was to admit he'd made them, definitely had nothing to do with his aggravation. Except they wouldn’t leave his mind, no matter how hard he tried to will them away. As the conflicting revelations began to settle uncomfortable in his chest, he shook his head and finally replied to Trip.

“Won’t happen again,” he muttered.

With how quickly Ward backed down and his now slightly bent posture did not escape Trip. But it seemed like at least part of the message got through to Ward and he was feeling some remorse, so Trip let it go.

* * * * *

“Here you go, gentlemen,” the waitress said, laying down three plates at the table. John Garrett was at _Vue_ with a couple of friends and the staff were all on their toes, making sure everything went perfectly. Garrett had largely pulled back from the day to day, hands-on management of the restaurant. Ward had a tight hold on the kitchen and overall back of house, while Raina managed all the front of house staff and operations. The owner still managed the greater operation, but he mostly just came in when something needed his personal attention or there were meetings that required his input and/or approval. Or sometimes, like tonight, when he wanted to show off. But those times, he would stay in the dining room and let everything flow without his involvement - as long as it went smoothly. Garrett was not a patient or particularly forgiving man, and he demanded the highest level of excellence from all his staff. If something went awry, it was sure to be addressed, and it was never a pleasant experience for those involved.

“I believe you had the chicken and risotto, ma’am,” Lucy said, passing the dish to the woman at the far end of the booth. “And the shrimp linguine for you, sir,” as she placed it in front of the other man at the table. The final plate was for Garrett. “And last but not least, New York strip, medium rare, with all the trimmings,” she said, offering a warm smile to the group.

“Oh!” The man across from Garrett looked at his plate with surprise, then relaxed. “Um, okay.” 

“What’s up, Simon?” Garrett asked, suspicion dawning in his eyes..

He shrugged placatingly. “It’s no big deal, I thought I’d asked for this without the mushrooms. But no worries, I’ll just leave them to the side.”

Lucy immediately flushed, realizing that a mistake had been made. And in front of the boss, no less. “Oh, I am so sorry, sir. Let me get that fixed for you right away,” she apologized.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine with it,” he said.

“It’s no trouble at all. I’ll have the kitchen re-do it immediately.” She moved to pick up the offending dish to take it back.

Simon patted her arm reassuringly. “Really, it’s fine. I don’t want to hold everyone else up and it’s not like I’m allergic or anything.”

Casting a nervous glance at Garrett, she replied, “If you’re sure…” She didn’t want to contradict the customer, but she also knew how important perfection was to the owner. 

“Now Lucy, we can’t have customers not getting what they asked for,” Garrett broke in. His expression remained gregarious and friendly, as it had been just moments before. “Is Ward back there?” 

She nodded quickly.

“One minute, Simon. I can’t have you not getting exactly what you ordered in my restaurant.” Garrett stood up and picked up the plate. 

His friend looked as if he was about to protest again, but both Simon and Lucy, seeing the iron look in Garrett’s eyes, decided to hold back any further comments. The owner strode quickly off to the kitchen, with Lucy following quickly behind. 

 

The kitchen was humming around Ward as he focused on plating the salmon fillet. Balancing it on the rice pilaf was more delicate than one might expect, but Ward’s hands were as steady as if he were defusing a nuclear bomb. The sauce was spooned over it and garnish added, resulting in a masterpiece of not just excellent taste, but exactness and precision. He took pride in turning out the same, perfect plate every time. Quickly the server added it to her tray and disappeared to deliver the meals to waiting customers. It was nearing the end of the dinner rush, but was still busy enough that he needed to move onto the next waiting ticket right away. 

As he swished the vegetables around the pan, coating them evenly, he could feel the air in the room change. The pressure of running such a well respected kitchen never lessened, but this particular tension was not the normal urgency. From the corner of his eye, he noticed some of the staff skittering out of the way.

The plate crashed on the metal table top, creating such a loud bang that people several feet away jumped. Ward could barely register what was in front of him before he looked up and saw his boss.

“John, what are you doing here?”

Garrett thundered, “What is this?!” gesturing at the food between them.

Ward looked confusedly at the dish. “It’s the shrimp and mushroom linguine.” He hadn’t prepared that specific meal tonight, but he knew every recipe like the back of his hand, and he couldn’t see anything wrong with it.

“Exactly. It’s shrimpy _and_ mushroom.”

A feeling of dread started to creep into Ward. John’s tone was one Ward was familiar with, both with John and one he’d heard from his parents countless times. It was the tone they used when they knew the answer and were trying to get you to trap yourself before they lowered the boom. There could be no right answer in this situation.

“Sir?” Ward asked, hoping that keeping his answer short would give fewer ways for it to be used against him.

“My friend, who I brought here, telling him about this amazing executive chef I personally trained and spent so much time teaching him everything I know, ordered this without mushrooms. And how does it come out? Exactly how he didn’t want it. So not only did a patron not get what they had asked for, but now I’m embarrassed, seeing how badly my kitchen is run when I’m not in here to supervise it. Is this what we do now? Ignore customer requests and just do what is easiest and fastest for us?” The words were dripping with contempt.

Shame flooded over the chef, how could he have let this happen? No, he didn’t make that dish himself, but he was responsible for everything that happened in here. Maybe John was right and Ward hadn’t been paying enough attention. He should have checked everything before it went out the door. If he had realized that was for Garrett’s table, he would have. But it had been busy enough that he had lost track of that table’s ticket and relied on his staff to do their work. 

“I’ll remake it right away,” he offered, knowing Garrett favored actions over words.

“No. You won’t,” his mentor replied cuttingly. “I will do it myself, since that seems to be the only way I know it will be done right.”

He wanted to respond that he would take personal care of the order, but he knew that when John was like this, there was no dissuading him. So Ward grew even quieter than usual and pulled back, offering ingredients as John needed them. After a few minutes, Garrett walked out with a fresh plate of pasta. But the glare he gave Ward right before he exited the room stayed with the chef all evening. The churning in his stomach built for hours, leaving him so agitated, he started snapping at his staff as the night came to a close. Finally, the last dish was washed, the stoves all turned off and prep surfaces cleaned, and setup done for the next day. Normally, he would drive straight home and crash for the night, but the jittery energy that was buzzing inside him made it so it would be impossible to relax anytime soon. Deciding to just cruise aimlessly for a bit, Ward took off, letting the feel of the motorcycle fill his senses and hopefully drown out some of the apprehension he couldn’t seem to shake.

* * * * *

It was nearing closing time, the crowds having been dwindling for awhile. LA was never a particularly quiet place, but the noise was dampening slightly, as most of its residents settled down for the night. The roar of a motorcycle pulling up near the truck startled Skye and she looked over to see the rider slide off. Already annoyed at the loud interruption, her irritation grew intensely when she realized it was Grant Ward under the helmet.

Upon the sight of him, a defiant glint shone in her eyes, and she opened her mouth to let out the opening volley. But at the last second, she actually registered what she was seeing. His hair was a mess, presumably from the motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm, the scowl she was getting used to seeing was firmly on his face, but his eyes were what stopped her. None of their normal annoyance and superiority were there; pain and turmoil haunted them instead. Knowing just how that feels, Skye swallowed her initial irritation.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” she said.

Ward looked up, almost dazed at seeing her, then quickly averting his gaze. “Yeah, didn’t expect it myself.”

“What can I get you?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“What do you want to order? I assume that’s why you showed up at a food truck.” She couldn’t help letting out a _little_ snark at him. 

“Oh, right. Um,” he trailed off, staring vacantly at the chalkboard menu. 

After a minute of his eyes skipping around and nowhere close to an answer, Skye rolled her eyes. “Just…..go find a spot to sit down. I’ll get you something good.”

His focus snapped back to her face. “If I’m going to eat it, shouldn’t I get to decide?” 

“If you actually would decide, sure,” Skye shrugged. “But since you won’t or can’t, I’ll figure it out for you. Trust me, I’ll find you something you’ll love.”

He stared at her, bewildered, for just another moment, then shrugged and wandered off to find a place at a table. Her gaze followed him, taking in his slumped shoulders and bent head. It struck her that he looked defeated, or at the least, exhausted. What had caused that, she had no idea, but she knew she couldn’t ignore it. 

Several options came to mind as she looked around the truck. The problem was her most common go-to comfort foods either she didn't have the ingredients in the truck or they would take too long to prepare. Chicken pot pie was her top choice when she needed something to make her feel better, but it took an hour to cook, once it was all pulled together, and that took a good chunk of time on its own. This situation felt like it required a faster treatment. Kara loved cinnamon rolls, but again, too much time, and Skye tried not to bake in the truck, especially dough that needed to rise, because the temperature could be too unpredictable. Cornbread and a thick beef stew had turned out to be Coulson’s favorite, which she found out completely on accident. When Mack needed cheering up, lasagna was the right way to go. As for what might work for Ward, especially on such short notice, it was a mystery to Skye. But on her last scan through the truck, she spied the soup pot. An idea came to mind as she inspected it and found there was just enough tomato soup for one serving. It only took a few more minutes until she had a ridiculously gooey, mouthwatering, crispy grilled cheese sandwich on sourdough dished up in a basket next to a cup of piping hot soup. 

“I'll be right back,” she called to Mack just before the door clattered behind her. 

Ward's back was to her, but even without seeing his face, she could tell his mood hadn’t improved at all. A little bit of tension had receded from his shoulders but his posture looked like he was being pulled down by lead weights. 

“Ward?” she called softly, not wanting to spook him. 

He met her eyes slowly, confusion lingering in his expression. 

“Soup and grilled cheese,” she announced, then set the food in front of him. “The comfortiest of all the comfort foods.”

“I don't think ‘comfortiest’ is a word,” he responded not quite kindly. 

“Who died and made you Merriam-Webster?” she said flippantly, a small trace of frustration beginning to creep into her tone. She paused for a second, re-centered herself, then spoke again, this time with a little mirth in her eyes. “Besides, taste it and then try to give me a better description. Go on, try.”

He took a bite and defiantly stared at her for a minute, not wanting to back down from the challenge. But soon enough, he gave up, treating her to a heavy sigh, and digging into the soup, eyes distinctly avoiding looking at her. 

She felt magnanimous enough about her victory that she didn't openly laugh at him, merely told him she'd check on him in a bit, before she headed back into the truck. 

The soup was thick and creamy and somehow exactly what he needed. It incorporated all the flavors of summer with sunshine and freshly harvested vegetables and herbs, while still giving the feeling of being wrapped in a warm quilt. A memory of winters in Massachusetts tugged at him, but this time it made him smile, rather than shy away. The sandwich was everything you could want in a grilled cheese: perfectly toasted, the cheese melted almost to a liquid, and there was a little kick to it that he couldn't put his finger on. He was so wrapped up in the meal that he didn't hear her approach. 

A bowl with what could only be described as a confection appeared in front of him. The first thing that caught his eye was the veritable mountain of whipped cream, covered by an almost obscene amount of caramel. Upon closer inspection, there was a brownie at the base of the entire structure, as well as chopped peanuts sprinkled all over. He glanced up only to find Skye watching him closely, grinning.

“Thought you could use something sweet,” she offered.

“I think this is _all_ the sweet things,” he replied. “Is there any sugar possibly left in your truck?”

“That’s cute that you think I would give you my last brownie,” she mocked. “They are a precious commodity, no way am I risking not having one for myself.”

“And yet, you gave me this one,” he pressed.

Skye rolled her eyes. “Oh my gosh, you were sad. Everyone knows the universal response to being sad is a brownie. Plus, I have more in the truck. But I guess if you don't want it…” She moved as though she was going to pick it up. 

Quickly he threw an arm around the bowl and spooned a huge bite into his mouth. “I want,” was the muffled reply. 

“Are you sure it isn’t too _unconventional_ for you?” 

Ward winced, remembering the argument they’d had a few days ago. “That….wasn’t exactly fair of me.”

“No, it wasn’t,” she agreed. “But honestly, it isn’t something I usually consider an insult. I’ve lived most of my life being unconventional. It’s probably too late to start following the rules now. Plus, it seems to have worked out. I notice all the soup is gone and I’m not sure there are even crumbs left from that sandwich.” Her smile was warm and inviting, not even a slight bit reproachful.

“They were great,” he enthused. “It was nice to have something familiar.”

“Familiar?” Skye leaned forward with her elbow on the table, resting her chin in hand. “You’ve had my soup before?”

“No, not yours,” Ward said, debating over whether or not to explain more. Skye raised an eyebrow at him, prompting him to go on. “My grandmother used to make tomato soup for us.”

“Your grandmother?”

“Yeah, Gramsy.” He looked off into the distance, letting his memories of her wash over him for a moment. “My parents weren’t exactly the epitome of soft and warm, if they even bothered to notice us. But Gramsy was, and she did what she could to make things better. Even if that was just tomato soup on a cold winter day. Though I have to say, hers wasn’t as good as this.”

Seeing his smile, she remembered her thoughts from their run-in at the store. His face changed dramatically with a smile; the worry lines in his forehead smoothed, the tension in his jaw relaxed, and his eyes took on a warm, amber tone. She couldn’t help but respond in kind, a hint of mischief as she said, “Did you get give me a compliment? I think that’s the second one I’ve actually heard from you.”

“Well, you deserved it. No, Gramsy was the one who got me interested in cooking, but I can’t say it was because she was so amazing at it. More like, I wanted to figure out a way to make it better and she was the only one who would actually let me try.”

“What does she think now, seeing you become the hotshot executive chef at the fanciest place in town?” 

A shadow passed over Ward’s face. “She passed away when I was in culinary school.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” A small hand reached across and settled on his arm, squeezing reassuringly. “I bet she’s proud anyway.”

He gave her a small smile, then shook his head slightly, as if to clear away the painful memories. “What about you? Who taught you how to make soup like this?”

“No one really,” Skye replied, pulling back. “I taught myself how to cook. Well, I taught myself _with_ the help of YouTube.”

“You learned to cook on the internet?!” he sputtered.

“Well, no one _else_ was teaching me,” she retorted with an edge in her tone. “I didn’t learn everything there. Just got some basic ideas and kind of made it up as I went. Turned out I had a knack for it.” She shrugged. 

“And a food truck was what you decided to do with that?”

“I wanted to be my own boss and it wasn’t like many restaurants were beating down the door to hire a girl with a GED and no formal training. So, this was the best option. Though, Phil made sure I took a couple cooking classes as well as business classes, that I’m still slogging my way through. That was part of the deal.”

“Phil? What deal?”

“That’s a story for another day,” she said enigmatically. “Tell me about life in the most posh place in town. Do you guys have gold plated frying pans and knives made out of diamonds?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. The gold doesn’t heat that evenly and the crevices between diamonds are too hard to clean.” He was completely serious in his tone and expression, that Skye burst into laughter. It was contagious and before he knew it, he was laughing along with her. “It’s a kitchen. What is there to say?”

“Oh, come on. There’s got to be more to it than that. Do you get all your steaks flown in from Japan? Do you special order vegetables that are cultivated with champagne instead of water? Do you have your own mushroom hunter that tracks down chanterelles in the Russian forests, exclusively for you?” 

“What? No!” he exclaimed. “Well, we do get some of the steaks from Japan. But not all of them, only certain cuts. And I guess we get some of the fish brought in from Alaska. But no special mushroom hunter. We order our vegetables from a distributor who gets them from farms. I’m not sure which ones, he handles all of that. I just tell him what we need and he makes sure it’s delivered on time.”

“So efficient,” she smirked. “I suppose that’s one way to do it. I am more of a ‘browse the farmer’s market to see what strikes my fancy and base my menu around that’ kind of a girl.”

Ward was perplexed. “How can you do that? Change the menu all the time?”

“Easy, it’s chalkboard. Just a little water and a rag and voila! Wipes right off,” she said with a wink.

“Skye.” He leveled her with a look. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I can’t help it. I get bored easily and like to come up with new things. If I stick with the same thing too long, I get restless. So I keep changing it up. It’s actually one of the best parts of having a food truck. I’m not stuck in the same place all the time. I get to go to different areas and see different people. If I ever decide that I just want to pack up and move to Tallahassee or Durango, I can take my business with me.”

There was something about her darting eyes and fidgeting movements that made Ward wonder if the constant changing was about more than just boredom with the menu.

“And what about you?” she continued. “You just stuck with the same things for years?”

He nodded. “I like the predictability. I know what the menu is going to be, week in and week out. I know what ingredients I need. I know how long it's supposed to take. I know what it will look like when I’m finished. And I have cooked it enough times that I know how to do it the best I possibly can.”

“You don’t get bored?” she asked.

“Not really. I eliminate as many variables as possible so I can have the best possible outcome.”

“Huh,” she mused. “I guess that’s one way to do things. Well, what about being the big boss and having a full staff to run around and do your bidding? Is it oh so glamorous to much back and relax while all the peasant people do the heavy lifting?”

He barked a laugh. “Kick back and relax, that's a good one. It means I'm responsible for 17 people's mistakes, so I have to not only check my own work but keep an eye on everyone else's too. If they screw up, then I'm the one who has to correct it - both with the customers and John.” The reminder of what had happened earlier in the evening cast a brief shadow over his face.

“John?”

Ward shook his head to clear away the dark thoughts. “The owner of Vue and my mentor. He's the one brought me into the restaurant and got me started. I owe him everything.”

“Everything? That’s a lot to owe someone.”

“Well, it’s true,” he said brusquely, tension rising in him again.

She raised her hands in a supplicating gesture. “Okay,” she acquiesced. “Now, tell me. Was the not the best brownie sundae you’ve ever had? It totally helped your mood, didn’t it?”

His face relaxed and he gave her a genuine smile. “It definitely did. Thank you.” His tone turned teasing, “Though I’m not sure about the very best ever. I mean, I have eaten from some really amazing chefs.”

“Hey! You take that back!” Skye demanded. “My brownies are world famous, or at least they should be. I may still be figuring out how to make salmon come out perfectly every time, but no one can touch me on brownies.”

“Oh, salmon is easy! The trick is, you just-”

“Nope!” she interrupted. “Everyone always tells me it’s just one simple trick, but every time I try, it turns into a giant mess. It’s going to take a lot more coaching than just one little mention to help this girl.”

Ward was just opening his mouth to respond when they both heard a shout from the truck. “Skye! Need you back here!” Mack called.

“Be right there!” she yelled back. Turning back to Ward, she said, “Duty calls. Hope your night gets better.”

“Thanks,” he said. “Oh wait! What do I owe you for the meal?”

Skye waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it. It’s on the house. Or the truck, I guess.”

“Come on, I should pay you for it. It was really good.”

“Tell you what, why don't you _teach_ me your trick with salmon and we’ll call it even?”

Ward looked surprised at her suggestion, then grinned. “Deal. When would work for you? Next Tuesday? Wednesday?”

Skye glanced over her shoulder at the growing line. “Sorry, I can’t sort out my calendar right now, but quick, give me your phone.”

“Huh?”

Skye rolled her eyes. “Give me your phone, I’ll add my number and you can text me later to figure it out, okay?”

“Oh! Gotcha.” He fished out the device from his pocket and handed it over to her. 

Just a few seconds later, she handed it back to him. “Thanks. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Sounds great,” he answered with a smile. 

“Good night, Ward.”

“Night, Skye.”

As she disappeared into the truck, he looked down at the new contact in his phone. ‘Skye - Queen of Brownies’ was staring back at him. Chuckling, he glanced at the truck one more time before getting on his bike and heading home. 

 

Inside the truck, Skye immediately got to work, cooking up the orders Mack had taken in the last few minutes. When the rush finally died down, she caught him giving her a weird look.

She looked at him bewildered. “What?” 

“What, what?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” he asked smugly. “Like it’s funny that you think I wouldn’t notice you sneaking off to go talk with that guy for 30 minutes?”

“I talk to customers all the time, Mack,” she defended herself.

“Not like that,” he reminded her. “Not for that long, while they’re eating, as if you were lifelong friends. And you don’t usually get that dopey couldn’t-stop-smiling-if-I-tried grin either.”

“Shut up,” she said, color rising in her cheeks. “He just needed someone to talk to. You’re always saying I can talk the hind leg off a mule, so why not put my powers to use for good?”

“Whatever you say, Tremors.”

“I hate it when you call me that,” she said.

“I know.” He winked. “That’s why I do it.”

She sighed. “I don’t know how Elena puts up with you.”

“Neither do I,” he said, shrugging. “But not sure why she puts up with you either.”

“Oh, it’s obvious with me. I am a perfect delight to everyone I meet.”

A rather undignified snort escaped Mack. “The first time I met you, I believe you stepped on my foot and told me in no uncertain terms that if I messed with her and managed to survive _her_ wrath, I wouldn’t survive yours. Sorry, Skye, but it was a little hard to take seriously from all 5’2” of your 16 year old self.”

Skye thought back to that memorable first meeting in the backyard of Elena’s family’s house. Skye had known them for a couple of years by that point and loved spending time with Elena, when she was home from college. The older girl had taken Skye under her wing, like a surrogate big sister, and Skye didn’t take the bond lightly. “Good thing you haven’t had to find out. Just imagine how much better I am with knives _now_.”

“Well, she’s stuck with me and so are you.”

“Yeah, we are,” she agreed. “Guess that isn’t so bad.”

 

Later that night, Skye’s phone chirped. She didn’t know the number, but with a message of _‘I have Tuesday the 27th off completely. Salmon?’_ there was only one person it could possibly be from.

_‘It’s a plan. We’re closed on Tuesdays anyway.’_ she wrote back.

_‘See you then. Good night.’_

_Good night, indeed_ , Skye thought, holding the phone close with a smile that hadn’t been seen in quite some time.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skye and Ward finally have their salmon date! And in true Skyeward fashion, it takes a turn neither expected. Teasing, bantering, and flirting ensues, while also getting to know each other more deeply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really might be my favorite chapter of this entire story. Which I probably shouldn't say, considering I haven't finished writing it, but whatever, it is. Enjoy all the fluff and cuteness and deeper connections.

“So, let me get this straight,” Kara began. “You’ve met this guy, all of three times, and you’re getting together with him to grocery shop and then cook?”

“Yeah….. So?” Skye was confused.

“Hmm…. Okay then.” Kara wiggled her eyebrows at her roommate. “I’ll make myself scarce this afternoon.”

Understanding Kara’s implication, Skye groaned. “Oh my gosh, Kara. Are you serious right now? Unless you’ll be studying in the kitchen, it’s _fine_. We’re just cooking, and fish at that. So you can put away the winking looks right now.”

Kara laughed at Skye’s embarrassment. “That’s what you always say.”

“Always say?! When what the last time I had a guy over, besides Mack; let alone to cook?”

A smug smile appeared on the grad student’s face. “Exactly.”

“Exactly what?!” Skye was close to screeching in exasperation.

“You never have guys over. I think I’ve seen you go on maybe three dates. No, wait. I think it was only two. And we’ve lived together for two years now. So, if you’re having this guy over, it _means_ something. Probably something that I need to leave you two alone for.”

Skye scowled. “You’re the worst.” 

“But I’m not wrong!” Kara sing-songed.

“You’re not right either!” Skye shot back.

“Oh really?” Kara’s grin has passed smug and turned maniacal. She looked Skye up and down and retorted, “ So it’s mere coincidence that you’re wearing those jeans that you only wear when you want to wheedle something out of someone. And there’s absolutely no reason that your hair is down and curled, as opposed to the messy bun that is your normal choice for cooking? After all, your face hasn’t been getting progressively pinker in the last four minutes or anything. What might _that_ be about, Skyyyyeeeee?”

Skye remained defiant. “I just, um, figured I'd wear something I don't wear often. I'm always in the truck or getting stuff for the truck, and I don't want to wear my nicer clothes for that. But today isn't like that, just a casual day out. Let me live.”

“Mmhmm, sure.” The expression on Kara’s face gave away just how much she believed Skye. (Not at all.) “And it has nothing to with this guy who has- wait. What does he even look like?”

Skye rolled her eyes. “He’s a guy. Tall, brown hair, brown eyes. Clean cut look, probably goes to the gym.”

“Tall, dark, and handsome, eh?” Kara’s grin was getting out of control.

“Good grief, do _you_ want his number? I swear you're more invested in him in getting some than I am,” Skye huffed.

“Aha!” Kara exclaimed. “So you are invested!”

“Invested in finding a new roommate!” Skye retorted. “If you're this obnoxious over a fellow chef who is going to teach me a new skill, as a thank you, imagine how insufferable you'd be with someone I was actually dating. Sounds like I've been smart to avoid dating for the last couple years.”

Kara softened, sensing Skye was nearing the point where it stopped being funny teasing and turned into resentment. “I just want to make sure you're going to have a great time. You're always working, you deserve a day of pure fun. Even, or maybe especially, if that means decidedly less pure activities.”

A knock at the door interrupted whatever Skye’s response was going to be. Kara locked eyes with Skye, gaze full of mischief. 

“I'll get it!” she said cheerfully.

“Kara, no!” Skye scrambled after her roommate, to no avail. 

Kara pulled the door open, finding Ward on the other side, looking confused.

“Well hello there,” she said, looking him up and down. 

He was startled by her examining look and stammered, “Oh, uhhh, I thought, I mean I was looking for, um… Is Skye here?”

“I'm right here!” Skye cried, pushing her way into view. 

At the sight of her, Ward relaxed. 

“Sorry, don't mind Kara,” Skye continued, wrenching the door open the rest of the way and beckoning him inside. “She seems to have forgotten how to be polite.” Even though she'd be speaking to Ward, the sentence was clearly directed at the other woman. 

Not chastened in the slightest, Kara smirked and stuck her hand out. “Kara Palamas,” she introduced herself. 

“Grant Ward,” he replied, eyeing her warily as he shook her hand. 

“Great,” Skye broke in. “Now that that's done, shall we be on our way, Ward? I could have sworn you had important studying to do, Kara. Maggots crawling out of headless corpses wait for no one.”

Ward looked between the women in alarm. “Uhhhh, what?!”

“Honestly, Skye,” Kara chided, then turned her attention back to the man in front of them. “I'm in the middle of a graduate program, getting my Master's in Forensics. Skye likes to tease about my subject matter.”

“Stop mentioning your subject matter while I'm cooking and we'll be just dandy,” Skye snapped. 

“If you get to talk about your passions, why can't I talk about mine?”

“Because yours are gross! Everyone loves talking about food.”

“I don't think everyone is hankering for a 45 minute lecture on the virtues of lime and the 17 different ways it enhances the flavor palette,” Kara said, clearly unimpressed with previous such conversations. 

Not missing a beat, Skye angled towards Ward, bringing him back into the exchange. “Back me up here. Food is definitely the better topic, right?”

Ward blinked. “Umm…”

“See?” Skye said triumphantly. “He agrees with me.”

Kara rolled her eyes. “Of course he does! He's a chef. You people could talk about the proper temperature for braising asparagus for days. Bor-ing! Just give me the food.”

“Ah, there we go,” Skye said, enjoying her moment to be smug. “Your true motivations surface. You don't really care as long as you get fed.”

“Duh.” Kara’s deadpan expression only lasted a second before the two friends cracked up. 

Complete and utter bewilderment was streaked all across Ward's face. The rapid fire banter between Skye and Kara, coupled with the fundamental warmth and affection they had for each other, had thrown him for a loop. 

“Alright you two cooking dorks, go out and get your stuff so you can stink up my kitchen later,” Kara directed. 

“Not a fan of salmon?” Ward asked. 

“Of any fish. Something that smells that bad before, during, and after you cook it is not meant to be eaten,” Kara answered. 

“She has no culture,” Skye commented. “But we should go. Do you want to drive or me?”

“I have my motorcycle, but I do have an extra helmet. So…”

“My car it is, then,” Skye decided. “I'm not ready for helmet hair this early in the day, plus we'll have stuff to carry. Okay, Kara, don't forget to come up for air and sunlight once in awhile.”

Kara made a face. “Overrated.”

Rolling her eyes, Skye said, “Whatever, crazy person. We'll see you later.” 

“Oh, I'm sure,” Kara said with a suggestive wink. 

Skye shot a death glare at Kara as she ushered Ward out the door. 

“Have fun!” Kara called after them. 

By the time, they were in the car, Skye's phone had dinged no less than six times. She checked the notifications, finding texts from Kara, starting with a gif of a woman fanning herself, then devolving into thumbs up, clapping, and fire emojis, with a grand finale of approximately 23 hugely grinning smiley faces. Clearly Kara more than approved. Skye turned the phone on silent and tucked it in her purse. Looking over to Ward with an apologetic grin, she spoke. “Sorry, she won't be a problem anymore.”

“It's fine,” said Ward. “Do you know how to get there?”

“I've been there once or twice, so I'm fairly confident. But if I make any wrong turns, let me know, okay?”

“Deal.”

* * * * *

The drive to the store was short, especially by LA standards. Ward started explaining their goal as they entered the market. “There are a few different types of salmon: King, Coho, Sockeye, even Pink and Chum. They all have slightly different colors and flavors.”

Skye’s brow furrowed a bit. “Really? It’s not just salmon?”

“Well, it’s not like all humans are the same,” he replied.

“Good point,” she agreed. “Okay, so how do I tell them apart and what makes a good one?”

Ward described the different varieties and how to look for freshness and good handling, in order to get the best cut possible, as well as the best dishes to use them in. “And while the Pinks generally don’t age that well, so you don’t see them in stores very often, they are actually great for salmon cakes.”

“Cakes made out of fish,” Skye laughed. “Kara would burn the kitchen down if I tried to convince her to eat that.”

Ward chuckled along with her. “That seems a little extreme.”

“You don’t know Kara and her love of cake and her passionate hatred of fish. Trust me, that may be underselling it.”

“It’s not like they’re constructed the same way or interchangeable in any way,” he pressed. “Salmon cakes can be an appetizer or entree, but are definitely not a dessert.”

“Yes, but she is convinced that if it has the word ‘cake’ in the title, it should definitely be full of sugar and vanilla and be fluffy enough to get mistaken for a cloud.”

“That’s…...something,” Ward said slowly. “I’m pretty sure that’s not the definition of a cake.”

Hearing his slightly unsure comment, a grin flirted at the corners of Skye’s mouth. “Just pretty sure?”

“Yes?” He looked at her with uncertainty.

“Wait, do you even know how to make a cake?” Skye asked, incredulous. 

“What?!” he sputtered. “Of course I know how to make a cake! I'll have you know, my cheesecake and dark chocolate torte are two of the best selling desserts at the restaurant.”

Skye burst out laughing. “Oh, that just makes all the sense in the world.”

Ward gaped. “What does?”

“A dark chocolate torte. Of _course_ that's the dessert you're best at. As if it could be anything other than something intense, rich, and dark. That just screams Grant Ward. I bet you don't even put whipped cream on it.”

Ward stared at her, completely horrified. “Absolutely not! It has a super fine dusting of cocoa powder, but more for looks than taste. Whipped cream? That would completely take away from the dark chocolate and make it way too sweet.”

“Sure,” Skye agreed, eyes still dancing with mirth. “What about cupcakes with a delightfully fluffy buttercream frosting?”

“What about them?”

“When was the last time you made them?”

“Maybe in culinary school? Maybe? I don't know. Don't really have much reason to make cupcakes.”

“That's it. That's what we're doing. Come on.” Skye grabbed his hand and started dragging him off. 

“Skye, wait!” It seemed he had been three steps behind her all day

“No way, T-1000. It's cupcake time and you're lucky enough to be in the company of the West Coast’s foremost buttercream expert.”

“But the salmon!” he protested

“The salmon can wait. This is way more important.” She was firm as she led him straight back out of the store and to her car. 

He was bewildered by the abrupt change in plans, but none of his arguments deterred her in the slightest. _I guess it’s cupcake time_ , he thought. 

It was only when they reached the car that he realized neither of them had let go of the other’s hand.

* * * * *

Forty five minutes later found them in the middle of Skye’s kitchen, ingredients in a hodgepodge of containers strewn across the counter. Skye was hovering over her lime green mixer (seriously, what was with her and that particular color?) when he thought he saw her slip something into the bowl.

“Skye, what did you just add to the batter?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied haughtily.

“Yes you do,” he answered. “What was in that little bottle? I saw you pour a couple drops in.”

“Oh, that’s nothing,” she assured him nonchalantly.

“Skye….” His tone was one of both warning and pleading. He couldn’t stand not knowing and she was picking up on it, which only made her want to tease him more. Watching his eyebrows pinch in consternation was quickly becoming one of her new favorite past times. 

She finally faced him, with that increasingly well known glint in her eyes. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. It was just something the batter needed.” Her eyes widened when she heard the words come flying out of her mouth. It wasn’t that they weren’t true, but she wasn’t ready for him to know she thought that.

“Something the batter need- Wait. You think I’m pretty?” His own cocky grin was growing, zeroing in immediately on that part of her sentence.

“You wish,” she huffed, but the pink on her cheeks spoke for itself.

Seizing the chance to turn the tables on her, he took a couple steps closer to her, nearing the space one could only call personal. “I’m not the one who said it,” he said, in a low voice.

“No, you’re just the one going on about it. It was just an expression, Ward.” She was aiming for unaffected, but if the warmth growing throughout her body at his proximity was any indication, unaffected she definitely was not.

“Mmhmm, suuuure,” he murmured, a predatory gleam shining from his eyes. He took another step until he was practically looming over her. How far he was willing to push this, he still wasn’t sure, but after their last meeting and how this one had been going, he wasn’t able to ignore his attraction to her anymore.

Swimming inside her was a whole mess of feelings Skye wasn’t ready to even begin to tackle yet. Some space was needed if they were going to finish the task at hand, let alone give her some time to examine her inner turmoil. Rolling her eyes, she threw her elbow lightly into his stomach. A smile appeared at his soft ‘oof’, she asked sweetly, “How about you make yourself useful and get the cupcake liners off that top shelf?”

With his own knowing smile, he gracefully stepped back and followed her directions, grabbing the paper cups. Once they were in his hand, he spun to face her, unimpressed with the liners in his hand. “Really, Skye? Alien faces all over them?”

Her teasing grin lit up her face once again. “What can I say? I told you I had a thing for space and aliens. Let me guess, you’d pick plain black?”

“Of course not,” he retorted. “I’d go with foil, something more like chrome.”

Skye snorted. “Well, this isn’t your kitchen, it’s mine. And if you’re going to make fun of my cupcake papers you can scamper off right now. Though it’d be a shame if you did,” she said thoughtfully.

The flirtatious grin was back. “Oh, would it now?”

“Yep.” She nodded decisively. “Because these cupcakes will blow your mind and we haven’t even gotten to the frosting yet. Wouldn’t want you to miss that.”

“So, it’s all about me, is it?” His arms crossed across his chest as he leaned back against the counter. 

“Cupcakes, _Grant_. It’s about the cupcakes. You know, sometimes I wonder how you get that helmet of yours on over such a huge head.”

“If you say so,” he acquiesced. 

“Put these in the oven, please,” she directed, handing him the muffin tin. 

 

A quiet snicker was heard from his right. “What?!” he asked, frustrated.

“Nothing!” Skye squeaked, trying to tamp down her amusement.

“I heard the laugh, Skye,” he growled. “It’s not my fault this frosting won’t stay where it’s supposed to.”

“Hey now, don’t blame the frosting,” she defended her concoction. “It’s perfect. Didn’t you taste it?”

“No.” The scowl on his face wasn’t lessening in the slightest.

“Here, have a taste, Grumpy Gus. Or should I call you Grumpy Grant? That works too.”

He leveled her a look, but it only served to make her grin even more.

“Come ooooonnnn,” she teased. “Taste it.” She stuck out her finger, with a big glob of buttercream on it.

Ward looked at her, looked at the finger, then decided two could play at this game. Wrapping his hand around her wrist, he brought her finger up to his mouth, and slowly licked it clean, all while maintaining eye contact. The teasing smirk had slid off her face and something more charged took its place. 

Staring back at him, she swallowed hard, her heartbeat hammering in her ears. She was acutely aware of the distance between them and how much (or rather, how little) effort it would take to close it. Just as she was ready to take a step and _do_ something about it, he released her wrist and turned back to the counter and the abundance of cupcakes there. 

“Fine, you win,” he sighed. “Show me how to do this better, since I clearly can’t do it.”

Skye blinked for another beat, then shook off the emotional extremes of the last few moments. “You have to make sure you stay centered,” she instructed. “If you get too far off to one side, the swirl will lean. Here, watch.” 

He focused closely on her demonstration, then tried it another time. It was a little better, but it still tipped dangerously to one side. 

“Try again,” she suggested. “Practice makes perfect, right?”

He nodded tersely, then attempted it once more. Even after four more cupcakes, there was little substantial improvement.

Giggles threatening to emerge again, Skye decided to put him out of his misery. (Because heaven help us all, if Grant Ward can’t do something perfectly.)

“Tell you what, why don’t you be on sprinkle duty?” she said.

“Sprinkle duty?”

“Yeah. I have both rainbow jimmies and silver balls. Both would work great, mix them up for all I care. We need to get them on before the frosting sets too much, anyway. Just put them on however you like.”

Ward still looked skeptical, so she pushed just a little more.

“Please?” she asked softly, a hint of pleading in her tone. (Maybe even an eyelash bat or two.)

There was a moment’s pause before he relented. “Okay, I’ll take care of the sprinkles.”

Working together, they had three dozen cupcakes frosted and sprinkled within 20 minutes. Surveying their work with pride, Ward reached for one, ready to taste the results. But before he could touch it, his hand was slapped away.

“Hey!” he cried.

“Not yet,” Skye warned.

“What do you mean not yet? They’re finished, why not yet?”

“First of all, because it’s 6pm and we need real food for dinner. Second of all, we need to be in the right setting.”

“And what pray tell, is that _right_ setting for cupcakes?” Ward asked, annoyed with the delay.

Skye grinned wickedly. “Grant Ward, we’re going to the beach.”

* * * * *

“Remind me again why we needed to be at the beach for this?” he asked, finishing off the last of the kebab from the street vendor.

“Were you not paying attention to the song earlier?” Skye asked. “Cake by the ocean, duh.”

“Huh?”

“The music we were listening to when we made the cupcakes. The song ‘Cake By The Ocean’ came on. Remember, you were casting your aspersions on the necessity of dancing while mixing batter. And I kept telling you how important it was?”

“Um, I remember that part. Guess I didn’t pay attention to the song.”

“Well, can you really think of anything better than having a cupcake with this view?” She gestured at the ocean, waves crashing against shore. The beach still had plenty of people, but it had shifted from the daytime families with their sand toys and bright towels, to those who were there for the sunset, strolling along as the light shifted colors and softened. 

Following her line of sight, Ward found himself unable to disagree with her. The view was spectacular, though not just the sea and sand and sun. “Well, now we’ve eaten dinner and made it to the ocean, can we finally have a cupcake?”

Skye laughed. “You’re something, you know that?- ” Ward preened. “-So impatient.” 

He scowled at the assessment, clearly not having been what he was expecting. 

The pout on his face made her giggle even more. “Don’t worry, Robot. You can have one now.” She pulled out the container from her bag and opened it, offering him the chance to grab one.

He slowly unwrapped the treat and finally sank his teeth into the confection. His eyes flew open and he looked at her in surprise. “Is that- Is there _lime_ in these?”

Her smug looked answered before her words did. “Of course there is,” she told him. “That secret ingredient you were trying to find out about? Lime extract. Are you really that surprised?”

“Yes?”

“Really?” She was incredulous. “I put lime in everything. Okay, not everything, but it’s my favorite flavor. I add it to a lot of stuff. How have you not noticed that yet?”

A shrug was only his response.

“Well, do you like it?” she prodded.

“Definitely,” he replied. “Just wasn’t expecting it.”

Another grin appeared on her face as she settled back against the bench to eat her own cupcake. Grant found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. There was so much to look at, but his gaze didn’t stray from the woman sitting next to him. The sunset was beautiful but had nothing on the way the light played in her hair. The sound of the waves couldn’t shift his attention from the contented little sound she made as she bit into the frosted dessert. The movement of all the other beach goers around them were no competition for the sight of her licking frosting off her fingers. Suddenly, he wanted nothing more than know what that felt like.

“What?” she asked, noticing his focus. “Do I have something on my face or something?” She grew self-conscious as he continued staring at her.

“No,” he said softly, shifting a little closer to her.

“Then what?” Her voice grew a little breathless as she noticed the way he was leaning towards her. 

“Then, this,” he said. 

His hand cupped her jaw and tilted her face up slightly. Her eyes slid closed right before he slanted his lips across hers. There wasn’t even any hesitation before she responded, pressing her lips against his and sliding her free hand into his hair. All other thoughts flew out of her head as they moved together. After a moment, the need for air broke them apart. Slowly, Skye’s eyes fluttered open and she was met with a dumbstruck Ward. She felt just as dazed as he looked, but seeing it on his face made her smile, which made him smile too.

Just as her smile erupted into a giggle, he leaned close to give her another peck. It resulted in their teeth knocking and them both laughing. Their chuckles faded and she found herself staring at him, like she couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. The world around them had vanished and it was just the two of them and this magical bubble. Her eyes flicked down to his lips again and her thumb softly traced his jawline. He gasped when her fingers brushed just behind his ear. She was just about to investigate what made him react like that, when a loud wolf whistle practically screamed in both their ears.

Seeing them jump about a foot into the air and then back from each other, the passing rollerblader laughed heartily and continued down the sidewalk.

It took a moment for them each to catch their breath and calm their racing heartbeats after the adrenaline rush. Realization of what had just happened and their current setting settled in for both of them. There was more pink than normal to Skye’s cheeks and Ward’s ears. Ward rubbed the back of his neck nervously, looking up at her from his downturned gaze. 

Not wanting things to turn awkward, Skye took charge. “Come on, let’s get rid of the trash and put the rest of the stuff in the car.”

Grateful for the opening, Ward nodded and collected what was in reach. A few minutes later they had deposited their bags into the trunk. Skye reached up to close the trunk, when Ward stopped her.

She gave him a quizzical look. He just grinned and grabbed something from the trunk.

“What are you going to do with that?” she asked.

“A blanket? I thought that was obvious. We’re going to watch the sunset,” he answered.

“Are we now?” she said, amusement dancing in her eyes and a smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth.

“Yeah. We’re here, the sun is about to set. Why wouldn’t we? Should we not? Do you not want to? We can go, if you want.” He started to babble out of concern.

“Ward, it’s fine,” she assured him, putting a hand on his arm to soothe him. “Who would have thought Grant Ward was such a romantic cliche?”

“Watching the sunset on the beach isn’t a cliche. It’s a classic,” he replied.

Skye giggled. “Whatever you say. Alright, take me to the best spot for this classic.”

He smiled back at her and stretched out his hand to her. “Right this way.”

A little thrill ran through her as she intertwined their fingers and let him lead her across the sand. 

 

The sun had long since set, but the two remained on the blanket, even as the stars came out and the moon shone down on them. They swapped stories about the craziest customers they’d encountered _(“I had a guy tell me the ice cream was too cold for his teeth and I needed to warm it up for him. Then when I did, he yelled at me for melting it.” “Oh, that’s nothing. One time, this woman put an entire plate of raw oysters in her purse! Just slid it right in there without batting an eye, then ate the rest of her meal like normal. The bag was dripping as she left.”)_ , their worst kitchen fails _(“I had grabbed the cinnamon instead of cocoa powder, which is definitely not what you want for the base of your hot chocolate.” “There were flames. Actual flames. And the inside was still completely raw.”)_ , and their guilty pleasures when it came to food (“Jack in the Box’s tacos.” “Are you serious? Those can’t even be considered tacos!” “I know, but they’re so addicting!”).

“Did you always want to be a chef?” Ward asked with a grin.

“Oh, no way. I never considered it. I was working at a doctor’s office, actually, before I started 0-8-4. Cooking for a living was the farthest thing from my mind,” she replied smiling at him.

“So, you just woke up one day and decided to start a food truck? The glamour of it all just too alluring?” he asked.

Skye’s face clouded over and her focus shifted to the waves rolling in. An unfamiliar tension appeared in her shoulders as she shifted away from him, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her arms on them. The transformation caught him off guard and he wasn’t sure what to do, but he knew he couldn’t do the wrong thing. So he waited, and watched, while she took a few breaths and gathered her thoughts. 

“My boyfriend and I were going to leave LA. He’d always wanted to go back to Texas, where he grew up, and I had never really left California, so I was game for it. Nothing too much was holding me here. We made all these plans to move to Austin. We had given notice at the apartment, I’d already quit my job, packed up almost everything. It was all working out great. Then, suddenly, I wasn’t going, just him. He decided he wanted his space, that he wanted to start over with no attachments, that he didn’t need me tagging along. He just told me that, two days before we were supposed to head out. I’d spent most of my savings making moving arrangements - the truck, movers, paid the deposit on the new apartment, etc. He promised he’d pay me back, but well, you can guess how that worked out.” Skye laughed bitterly.

“I haven’t heard from him in the three years since he left. He changed his number as soon as he made it to Texas and wouldn’t even return an email. So there I was, with nowhere to live, no income, no car - yeah that was his too - nothing but a few boxes of clothes and pots and pans. Elena and Mack let me crash on their couch for a couple months. I will be forever grateful for that, especially because it was right after Gabriella was born. Like life wasn’t stressful enough with a colicky two month old, they then had Skye the Hot Mess sleeping on their couch and crying half the day. Elena let me get away with that for about a week, then promptly kicked my ass, told me I could either let Miles destroy me or I could rise above it and prove him wrong. But she insisted I needed to _do_ something. I was still at a complete loss for what that thing would be. I swear, we spent so many hours, sitting on that couch, pacing around that living room, taking turns holding Gabriella, listing occupations and pros and cons of each. I couldn’t see myself going back to an average receptionist or assistant job, it wasn’t like I had a degree or any formal skills that opened up doors there. There were always options like clothing stores, grocery store, other retail jobs. But this was my chance to pick something better than just surviving.”

She stopped for a moment, taking a breath and sorting through what details to give him next. He noticed she still hadn’t turned to face him, but he was familiar enough with how hard it was to tell these kinds of stories, let alone facing someone while doing so. So he sat back and waited quietly, letting her go at her own pace and comfort. 

“One night, we were over at her parents’ house, just a normal backyard dinner that I’d been to a hundred times. Kids running everywhere, everyone chattering a million miles an hour - in both Spanish and English, the tables overflowing with food. Mariana, Elena’s mom, was grilling me about what I was going to do now that Miles was gone. I love Mari, but she is in no way subtle or even particularly gentle when she is focused. My vague non-answers clearly weren’t cutting it for her, and she wasn’t about to let me get away with it any longer. She spun around and yelled across the backyard, ‘Philip! You were looking for a new investment? Here! I have one for you.’ I was completely lost, I had no idea who she was talking to, if she had just offered me up to some sugar daddy or what.” Skye paused a moment to chuckle at the thought. “It turned out to be a friend of Mari and Javier’s, whom they’d known forever, Phil Coulson. He was one of those... I don’t know quite how to describe Phil, but he finds people or companies who need a break and helps them with that.”

“He’s a venture capitalist?” Ward asked.

“Maybe? Kind of? That sounds a little more opportunistic than he is; Phil defies conventional explanation.” Skye shrugged. “Regardless of whatever the right term is, he was willing to help me. I was sitting there, floundering, trying to come up with any idea of what I could do, when Javier piped up that I was good with food and cooking, and maybe I should open up a restaurant. And it just kind of clicked in my head. That I love cooking for people, I love making them happy, I love experimenting with food and discovering new things. And people always need to eat. So why shouldn’t I turn that into a career?”

“So your truck all started because you got dumped?” he asked bluntly.

“Geez Ward, way to put it so harshly,” she retorted.

He was immediately chastened. “Sorry! That’s not exactly what I meant. I just….well, how would you describe it?”

“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “It’s a pretty accurate assessment. I probably wouldn’t have ever thought to make a business out of it, but at the same time, I don’t feel particularly like I should be grateful to him for screwing me over so intensely. Rising from the ashes is great, but it still means you got burned.”

Wordlessly, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tugged her closer to him. She remained tense for a moment, then let out a deep sigh and sagged against his chest. His other arm found its way around her, holding her tightly. They sat that way for a few minutes, her face tucked against his shoulder, letting out small puffs of breath against his neck, and him feeling ready to hunt down Miles and make him suffer for what he did to Skye. 

The silence settled over them, even the waves rolling in seemed to quiet down, showing deference to the moment being had by the two on the blanket. Skye hated talking about Miles and what led to her food truck. It was something she avoided as much as possible with most people. (The Rodriguezes were an exception, because, really, they wouldn’t know what it meant to avoid a painful subject if it came up and smacked them in the face. She loves them to death, but there was no chance of keeping anything quiet if she was with them.) Normally, she would get well-intentioned, but cloying comments that painted her as both a hapless victim and a gladiator who had destroyed a den of lions with a wooden sword. Neither felt right to her. It was just her life and she didn’t want to be idealized like a character from a myth. Yet somehow, it hadn’t made her nervous to tell Ward. There was something about him, about the depth she’d seen in his eyes that made her feel like he would understand. And now, as she was folded in his strong arms, something inside her relaxed in a way she wasn’t sure she’d ever felt before. A small piece clicked into place, like it finally found its home.

* * * * *

There were no lights on in the apartment when Skye let herself in. _Kara must be in bed_ , she thought. A small smile was on her face as she closed the door behind her and leaned against it.

“You kissed him, didn't you?” a voice called out from the darkness. 

Skye gasped and clutched at her chest. “Geez Kara! Way to give a girl a heart attack! Are you seriously just sitting here in the dark, waiting for me to come home so you could use that line?” She flipped on the light, seeing her roommate sitting cross legged on the couch, grinning crazily.

“Maybe,” Kara said wickedly. “No, not actually. I was about to go to bed, but then I heard you outside. Decided it would be more fun this way.”

“Creeper,” Skye hissed. 

“That’s beside the point,” Kara dismissed. “Tell me all the good stuff. You took way too long to come in the door that it should have if it was a simple good night to a friend. Which means, it was complicated, because he isn’t just a friend.” Kara started craning her neck to examine Skye. “I don’t _see_ any visible hickeys, but that doesn’t mean they’re not in places that are covered up.”

“Would you stop it?!” Skye screeched, throwing her purse at Kara, who dodged it easily. “And to think I was going to give you a cupcake. Not anymore.” 

Chastised, Kara softened. “Noooo! Please! I promise I’ll be good. But you also know you’re dying to tell me. So let’s make it a win-win. I get a cupcake, you tell me all the dirty and salacious details about your date.”

“I don’t know if I will,” Skye sniffed imperiously. “I think I might just go wash the salt out of my hair and go to bed. I’m so tired, after all.”

“Skyeeee!” Kara whined.

Seeing her friend’s distress made Skye giggle. “Of course, I’ll give you a cupcake. Come on, let’s head to the kitchen.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they spend more time together, Skye and Ward are both trying to figure out their own feelings. New relationship second guessing is definitely happening, but also excitement and exploration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooooooo!!! This update took almost forever, but I have never given up on it. Let's just say, it's been a heck of a few months. But here I am, back with a complete, and decently lengthy, chapter for you all.
> 
> I know some of you were surprised at how quickly they kissed in the story, but remember, a kiss isn't the be all end of a relationship. There is a lot more to figrue out for them both.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me and I hope you enjoy this update!
> 
> P.S. Thank you to Evie for being my second set of eyes and eternal hand holding, patiently guiding me through my (many) tantrums. You the best, platypus.

_‘Meet me at the West Hollywood Farmers’ Market at 10:00am.’_ read the text from Skye. 

The demand in her unexpected text made him bristle initially, but he held back from responding with a flat refusal. _‘And what if I don’t?’_ was his non-committal reply.

_‘Then you’ll miss out on the best scones you’ve ever had AND my company. But hey, your loss. ;-)’_

Her answer made him roll his eyes, but he also found himself fighting an unexpected grin. Skye had this way of throwing him off-kilter with every move, but at the same time, it felt like a breath of fresh air. Still mulling over how to respond, he remembered his plans for the morning. Disappointment flooded through him, more so than he had anticipated. 

_‘I’m supposed to do the final check on the monthly books before sending them off to the accountant by this afternoon.’_

_‘Boring. You can get there an hour later and still get it done in time. Come on, Mr. Fun Machine. You know you want to.’_

He chuckled at her response; she was right. It never took that long to read over and confirm the ledgers. It could probably wait an extra hour and still be done in time to get dinner prep going. If not, that was why he spent so much time training his sous chef. And he _did_ want to go, despite his attempts to understand why. _‘Fine, you win. See you there. But I absolutely have to be out of there by 11:30am or John will have my head.’_

The thumbs up and giant grinning emojis she sent back clearly expressed her feelings on the matter.

 

The parking lot was filling up, but it was still easy to snag a good spot for his bike. It was only after securing the motorcycle that he realized he didn’t actually know where in the market Skye wanted to meet. He sent a quick text, informing her of his arrival, then let himself be moved along with the flow of the crowd. It wasn’t often that he wandered around, well, anywhere, just for the sake of wandering. He always had a focus, a purpose, a goal of what he was there to accomplish. But this time, there wouldn’t be much of one until Skye appeared. So he decided to give himself over to the sunshine and hum of the people around him. 

Rows of canopies, mostly white but occasionally dotted with a green or blue, created aisles for visitors to walk along. Baskets were overflowing with colorful produce. Bright chalkboard signs advertised the farms represented, prices, and other random tidbits. Jars of goods like honey and jam were stacked up on tables and buckets of flowers seemed to be bursting with blooms, as if they were fireworks. There was an earthy smell permeating the whole space; though Ward was picking up on some of the individual scents, like the red peppers from one stall, lemons from another, and the lilies at the far end. Even the bustle of the crowd wasn’t bothering him like it normally would. Large groups of people had the tendency to unnerve him, at least when they were as unorganized and unpredictable as locations like this market. Yet this time, the anxiety he often felt was nowhere to be found. Not wanting to examine that too closely, he simply ambled along past the stalls, getting a feel for the different vendors and their offerings. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket and when he pulled it out, he found a text from Skye. ‘ _Two minutes, I swear_ ,’ was all it said. There was always some element of chaos whenever Skye was involved; her being late to something to which she had invited him seemed par for the course. Figuring it would probably be five or more minutes until she actually arrived, he continued strolling. A stall full of bouquets of bright, colorful daisies caught his eye. Their frank cheerfulness and unapologetic vivacity drew him in. Pinks, reds, oranges, yellows, even blues and purples, put together in all different combinations, had him leaning in closely.

“Hey.” 

The sound of her voice made him pull back and whirl around. She was standing a few feet away, leaning back on her heels, arms folded across her chest, smirking at him.

“Think I’d be hiding in a flower bucket?” she asked, now grinning openly at him.

A shy smile appeared on his face and he ducked his head, slightly embarrassed. “Just enjoying them. But I was wondering where you were at. I’ve been here for 10 minutes and couldn’t find you anywhere.”

Her grin turned sheepish as she strolled over to meet him. “Sorry about that. Sometimes I’m the worst at estimating time.”

“That must be helpful with cooking,” he teased. _Who is this person that teases and jokes so easily?_ he wondered to himself. Once again, he was taken aback by the sides of him he didn’t realize existed being pulled out into the light by Skye. It wasn’t intentional on his part, apparently it was a byproduct of being around her. It continued to baffle him, but he couldn’t seem to stop it either. 

“Hey now,” she said, bumping his shoulder in response. “I’ll have you know I do just fine with cooking. Also….I have Mack. And timers.”

A deep laugh escaped him. “And the truth comes out.”

“Literally no one asked,” she mumbled under her breath, but the smile she couldn’t quite smother belied her true feelings. “So do you want to stay with the flowers or shall we have a wander?”

“I believe I was promised the best scones of my life,” he reminded her. His expression sobered and his tone was deadpan. “I expect to be wowed.”

“You will be,” she said with a wink. “You need to learn to trust me.”

Her simple statement caught him off guard. Yes, she was talking about food and her recommendations, which, come to think of it, hadn’t ever disappointed him, but there was a deeper significance in the sentence that hit him in the chest. Trust was not something he ever gave easily. The number of people he could say he truly trusted was quite small, it could be counted on one hand. Could he trust her? Or, more importantly, _should_ he? These thoughts all ran through his mind, not quite coming to a conclusion.

Her head quirked to the side as she noticed his moment of uncertainty. Not ready to confront the train of thought to himself, let alone explain it to her, he forced a smile and shook off the brief preoccupation. “Alright, show me.”

She stared for just a moment longer, assessing if he was being genuine. Whatever she saw either reassured her enough or at least convinced her not to dig. She nodded and then tilted her head, indicating the direction behind her. “Right this way.”

 

She was not wrong.

They were the **best** scones he’d ever tasted. Even though he was wolfing down his third and his stomach was groaning in protest, it was a letdown that they were all gone.

Skye’s eyes danced in amusement as she watched him frown at the empty napkin in his hands. He was wiping the crumbs and jam residue off his fingers when she leaned over and swiped her thumb at the corner of his mouth. There was just a little bit of huckleberry jam now residing on her digit. He couldn’t focus on anything else as she licked it off. “Don’t want anything go to waste,” she cooed from beneath her eyelashes. 

He gulped and nodded in vague agreement, still not able to take his eyes off her mouth. Without his permission, his body began to lean towards hers, ever so slightly. Just as he got close enough to be clearly intentional, he caught himself and pulled back a bit. Though she didn't say anything or otherwise react, he could tell she'd noticed. Unless the blush on her cheeks was caused by something else. But the small, shy smile she offered suggested not. 

Embarrassment began to set in as he wondered what had stopped him. But wasn’t it too soon for that kind of thing? They weren’t there yet. Or were they? Was she now disappointed in him? Should he have followed through? Ward was not a person often plagued by indecision and uncertainty. He had a plan, he knew what to do, and he was confident in himself. But the more time he spent with Skye, the more he felt as though the rug has was being pulled out from under him. And after that evening at the beach, he felt even less sure about where they stood and what he wanted. The clearly defined lines he’d operated in for years were blurring and fading a little more every day. 

Feeling the moment was turning awkward, Ward cleared his throat and stood up from the cement planter they’d perched on. “I guess it’s time to go.”

Skye looked at him, puzzled. “But we haven’t gotten anything yet,” she said.

His own confusion now mirroring hers, he replied, “Uhhh, the scones? I thought that’s what we were here to get.”

Understanding dawned on her face and she laughed. “The scones were just a happy byproduct of being here. The real point is to get produce for the truck this week. What did you need to get?”

“Huh? I told you I order everything through other vendors.”

“Everything? There’s nothing you could find here that you need or could use at the restaurant? What about for home?” she pressed on as he remained dubious. Another beat of silence, Ward shrugging, and Skye gave up. “Fine, whatever, be stuck in a rut, if you must.”

“It’s not a rut, it’s being classic and traditional. Why mess with perfection?” he retorted with a wink.

She snickered. “Perfection, eh? Sure, I’ll let you keep thinking that.” Seeing him beginning to protest, she rushed on, “Since you don’t need anything, that means it gets to be all about me. Come on, let’s go find a new adventure.”

 

They made their way through the stalls, Skye greeting many of the vendors by name and asking after their families. She joked with them about being their favorite customer and therefore worthy of a big discount. They, in turn, would tease her back and say she was still the new kid. But it was obvious that they would pick out the best pieces for her and agree to hold the crate until she was done shopping and ready to load her car. The comfort and ease with which she worked her way through the market took him aback. He’d been taught that the customer was the one with the power and usually a sharp word about finding another vendor was enough to get everyone to fall in line with what he was demanding. It had always been effective, so it never occurred to him that there was another way. Watching Skye was opening his eyes to new ways of doing things, even while he remained skeptical. Being friendly was great when you were getting what you want, but when there was a problem, would that still work? A brief thought of what John would have to say about that crossed his mind. _Don’t let them think you’re buddies. Being the best doesn’t happen by swapping chit chat about the weather and their kid’s latest soccer game. You’re the customer, you’re in charge. Make them give you what you want or make them wish they had._ The tone he was so used to from John was jarring when compared against the warmth and ease of the outing. The juxtaposition made him frown as it started to sink in. But before he could get too far into that thought, he was interrupted by Skye whirling around to face him suddenly.

The mischief in her eyes was unmistakable. “I have a challenge for you.” 

He wanted to groan at her turning this into a game. Yet, the fun of the morning had seeped into him and he found himself smiling back. “Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm,” she said nodding. “We each pick a random ingredient here at the market and we have to incorporate into our menus for the week.”

He pondered for a moment then shrugged. “That doesn’t sound bad at all. I can do that.”

“Here’s the twist, though. You pick for me and I pick for you. And we have to accept it, no matter what.”

That took him aback. Deviating from the menu was enough of an unusual circumstance for him. But letting someone else dictate the menu, even to a small degree, was practically unheard of. His knee-jerk reaction was to tell her absolutely not, but the way she was looking at him with a combination of flirtation, challenge, and a little bit of hope, broke down his resolve and before he knew it, a matching grin had blossomed on his face. 

“You’re on,” he answered. 

 

“Yes,” she said firmly. “This.”

He looked at the small carton of blueberries in her hands and scoffed. “Really? Blueberries are your exotic choice?”

“Mmhmm,” she said softly. “But there’s a condition. You can’t use them in a dessert. You have to find a way to use them in an entree.”

He stared at her in disbelief for a moment. It would have been so easy to make them into a cobbler or pie or parfait, or even just a topping for cheesecake or something. Skye’s stipulation was definitely going to take some work, but he wasn’t about to back down from her challenge. “No sweat, Rookie.”

She grinned in delight at the nickname. “Rookie, eh? And what, O Wise One, are you going to choose for me? Are you sure you can even think that far outside the box?”

“You think you’re such hot stuff,” he said, picking up a round, brown vegetable. “Try this on for size.”

“A potato?” she questioned, dubious of his mental faculties if a potato was what he chose as an exotic challenging ingredient.

“Jicama,” he corrected. 

“And that is?” she asked, for the first time he’d ever seen looking less than 100% confident and sure of herself..

“Ah, see? You’re the chef. You figure it out,” he concluded.

Her head cocked to the side as she regarded him for a moment. The instinct to squirm under such scrutiny was one he had long since learned to control, so he maintained his stoic (and slightly arrogant) expression. Not that it stopped a new uncertainty from cropping up. For the first time in a long time, he hoped that what was being seen measured up - not merely to avoid censure, but a new urge to truly show something worthy of excitement. 

He watched as she nodded, took a deep breath, and stretched a broad grin on her face. “No sweat, Robot,” she echoed back. “Don’t you worry for one minute that I won’t blow your mind with something amazing.”

Answering her grin with his own, Ward quietly wondered at the slightly moment of insecurity he witnessed. But not one to probe at anyone’s vulnerable spots, he made no mention, and helped her pick out the best jicamas offered. His own musings could wait until another time.

 

A week later, he couldn’t quite bring himself to tell her that the berries had turned the salmon entree into one of the most requested and raved about items he’d ever served. 

Likewise, she didn’t mention that she’d had no less than 12 people tell her either in person or on social media that they’d never tasted jicama before and now they’d bought some for their own homes, and asked her how she prepared it.

* * * * *

“Hello stranger,” a voice called from the doorway of his office. “They said I could find you here.”

Grant Ward was not a person who typically startles easily. But hearing Skye’s voice in his restaurant was definitely not something he was expecting, so he jumped. 

Seeing his reaction, she giggled. “Didn’t mean to scare you,” she said kindly. “I was just in the neighborhood and thought I’d say hello, since you were stuck here all day.”

He smiled back at her, the surprise fading and being replaced by a suspiciously warm feeling. “Come on in. I was just checking over next month’s schedule.”

Skye walked in and perched herself on the edge of his desk, letting her purse slump to the floor beside it. “So this is the glamor and thrill of being an executive chef, eh? A tiny little office in the back hallway?”

“Hardly,” he said, rolling his eyes. “The real magic is out there in the kitchen.”

“I’ll bet it is,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

Her flirtatious tone both amused Ward and left him a little unsure of how to respond. She always seemed to throw him off balance, and he could only keep up with her about half the time. “It’s almost time for me to head out there anyway. The dinner hour waits for no one.”

Her expression turned serious and she was poised to jump up. “Am I keeping you from work? I don’t want to get in the way.”

“Naw, it’s fine,” he reassured. “I’ve got a little bit until it really starts. What brought you all the way over to this neck of the woods?”

“Scoping out a new marketing firm,” she said. “Well, less scoping out and more meeting with one. Phil’s been not so subtly suggesting I meet with this group for awhile, to see if they can help grow the business.”

A commotion in the kitchen caught Ward’s ear and he lost the train of what Skye was saying as he tried to figure out what was going on out there. He had just enough time to register that it was Garrett’s voice he was hearing out in the kitchen, but not enough to time to react before the man himself appeared in the open doorway, exclaiming, “What are you doing hiding in here?” 

Just like that the atmosphere in the room changed from one of casual company to tension and disquiet. “Oh! Um, we were just talking. But we’re about done anyway,” Ward rushed, feeling like he’d been caught skipping class.

It was then that John noticed Skye in the room. “Are you even going to tell me who this is? I thought your family raised you with more manners than that,” John said slyly.

Ward flushed and jumped up quickly to make the introductions. “Sorry, sir. John, this is Skye. Skye, this is John,” he said hurriedly, not quite making eye contact with either of them. 

“Skye? So this is the little lady who’s been capturing all your attention lately?” John asked with a wide smile. But underneath the gregarious tone, there was an undercurrent that reminded Ward of a wolf baring its teeth. “Nice to meet you. I’m John Garrett,” he said, sticking out his hand to shake hers. “I own this little ol’ place and brought this guy onto the scene.”

Someone less attuned to body language and tone might have missed the flinch Ward tried valiantly to mask when John clapped him on the back. But Skye had spent her entire life reading people and listening to her instincts, so when the hairs on the back of her neck raised, she knew there was something deeper going on. Nevertheless, until she knew exactly what it was, she followed Ward’s lead and shook John’s hand politely. “Nice to meet you as well. This restaurant is amazing; everyone is always raving about it.”

“Well, I certainly have tried,” John agreed. “I started it with nothing, and those first few years were a lot of work. But, if the job was easy-”

“-it wouldn't be any fun,” he and Ward finished in unison. 

Skye pushed a smile onto her face, covering the unease she was feeling. It was clear that there was a long lasting and deep relationship between the two men. She knew Ward respected his mentor immensely and looked up to him in practically every way. It seemed obvious that John was also very much invested in his protege. What she couldn’t put her finger on was how much of that was for Ward’s benefit, and how much was for John’s own selfish needs. Ward hadn’t told her much about John, just bits and pieces about how he owed the man. She knew she had no logical reason to distrust Garrett, but something was nagging at her nonetheless. 

“What brings you to our fair establishment?” Garrett asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“I was just nearby and thought I’d say hello to Ward,” she answered. “He’s been working so much lately, I wanted to make sure he hadn’t entirely turned into the robot I tease him about being.”

“Are you sure you’re not just here to spy on the competition?” Garrett joked.

A tiny pang of alarm swept through Skye. It wasn’t quite an accusation, but the idea that she was trying to exploit her relationship with Ward to further her own business horrified her. However, she didn’t know enough about Garrett and his tone to be sure if he really was implying that or if it was truly a joke. Without being confident, she decided to act as if his question was well-intentioned and responded in kind with a jovial tone. “As if my tiny little truck could ever actually come close to actually competing with this place. Your reservations are booked out for weeks, whereas I’m just lucky if people follow me on Twitter enough to know where I am or stumble across me on accident. Plus, I’m pretty sure the clientele that enjoys filet mignon is not the kind who will be pulled away by bacon macaroni and cheese.”

The compliments she lavished on the restaurant and its patrons seemed to mollify Garrett’s ego enough that he relaxed a touch and for the first time, the calculating, hard glint to his eyes relented a bit. _Well, at least I passed that test,_ she thought. _Even though I still have no idea what the hell is going on here._

“Come on, Skye,” Ward interjected. “People love your food.”

Even as she blushed from the compliment, Skye caught Garrett’s eyes hardening again. Judging by the tightening of his shoulders, Ward recognized it too. “But speaking of your truck,” he scrambled. “Don’t you need to get back there? I thought you said Mack was waiting for you.”

Seeing the plea in his eyes, Skye wisely chose to swallow down her retort about she’d just told him she was heading home after this. “You’re right,” she said. “I do need to be on my way. It was nice to meet you, John.” She turned to the restaurateur as she picked up her bag to go.

“And you as well,” he said, shaking her hand once more. His eyes bore into her as they made eye contact again, the warning coming out of them with an almost physical force. It took her a half beat too long to extract her hand and finally break the gaze between them. 

Suppressing the urge to shudder, she pivoted back to face Ward and waved her hand in goodbye. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?” she asked timidly. She wanted to say more, but it was clear that he didn’t want to talk with her in front of his boss.

He nodded brusquely and followed her to the door, one hand on the knob, ushering her out. But just as she stepped over the threshold and looked back at him one last time, he brought his other hand up where Garrett couldn’t see and gently squeezed her arm. The relief she felt in that small gesture was far more than she’d expected. 

Ward seemed to be a man of contradictions. At times he was gruff and taciturn, full of scorn for anyone deemed beneath his own abilities. And then, there were those moments where he let down his guard and the tenderness underneath came through. Having been on the receiving end of all of those emotions, Skye felt her head spinning a bit. Grant Ward was a puzzle, and she had no solid idea of what the final picture looked like. But she found herself determined to find out.

* * * * *

“What color is this again?” Kara asked, blowing on her fingertips. The living room looked every bit the teenage girl sleepover cliche one would expect. The credits from the show they were binging rolled and a new episode was about to start. Blankets and pillows were everywhere and both women were clad in their softest pajamas. Approximately 17 bottles of nail polish were strewn across a small area, having been considered and discarded before final selections were made.

Skye grabbed the small bottle she had just put down and peered at the bottom. “Vicious Trollop,” she announced.

“Well, if you’re going to be a trollop, being a vicious one seems like a good way to go,” Kara said with a shrug. “Bonus points if it’s a strengthening formula and it helps you claw someone’s eyes out.”

Skye rolled her eyes and scooped up a different bottle, ready to start on her own pedicure. “You’re rather twisted, has anyone told you that?”

An infectious grin painted Kara’s face. “You tell me that every day.” 

“And you’re so smug about it too,” Skye shot back, concentrating on applying purple polish to her own toes.

“You know you love me,” Kara replied loftily. 

Skye started laughing and flopped back against the couch cushions. “That I do. Though sometimes I wonder why.”

“Because no one else is willing to listen to you gush and overanalyze and work yourself into a tizzy over the new guy you’re seeing,” Kara said archly.

“Hey!” Skye cried. “I am not working myself into a tizzy!”

“Not _yet_ , but let’s be honest here, Skye. You know you want to tell me every little thing in as much detail as possible.”

“Not now, I don’t.” Skye crossed her arms and put on a pout. Just because Kara was right, didn’t mean Skye had to admit it. At least, not easily.

“Yes you do,” Kara sing-songed back. “You’ve been dying to all day. That’s why you talked me into this girly fest. It’s totally cool, I knew what I was signing up for.”

With pink cheeks, Skye cast a sheepish look at her roommate. It was completely true. Skye had been getting antsy, wanting to get someone else’s perspective on the situation. There weren’t that many other people she felt comfortable enough with to actually mention it to - pretty much just Kara and Elena, maybe Mack. But that still didn’t make it easy to bring it up. A loud sigh escaped her. “Fine you’re right. I totally do want to talk about it.”

Kara sat back, patiently waiting for Skye to start. After a moment, she broke in, “Well? Are you going to or not then?”

Skye groaned and sank back even further between the back of the couch and a pillow. “I don’t know where to start,” she whined.

“How about with the important stuff first?” Kara suggested. “Have you slept with him yet? How was it? Was he great? I bet he’s good with his hands. Gotta have great dexterity to be a chef.” A wiggle of her fingers emphasized her point.

“Oh my gosh, NO!” Skye screeched. “That has not happened! And if it had, I wouldn’t just blurt out all the details like that.”

“Oh honey,” Kara said, patting Skye’s knee. “You so would.”

The pillow from behind Skye’s head came sailing at Kara’s face. “Shut. Up. Just because you’re right doesn’t mean you get to call me out like that.”

Laughter echoed through the living room and the pillow flew back at Skye’s stomach. “Well, it’s all a moot point anyway since you haven’t slept with him. So, what has been going on?”

“I don’t know… I guess we’re dating? Maybe? I’m not sure. It’s not like he’s said anything specific. Oh gosh, I’m probably blowing this all out of proportion and he doesn’t even really think of me like that, and I’m just embarrassing myself.” Skye pulled the pillow on top of her face, hiding from Kara’s scrutinizing gaze.

“Didn’t he kiss you?” Kara asked evenly.

“Yeah,” Skye mumbled.

“Then why on earth do you think he doesn’t like you?” Kara was incredulous. 

Skye pulled the pillow down from her face. “It’s not like I have any way of knowing. He’s not exactly much of a talker.”

“But he kissed you,” Kara insisted.

“So?” said Skye uncertainly. “It’s probably not a big thing to him.”

Kara scoffed. “Somehow I doubt that.” She tossed her head in response to Skye’s questioning look. “Let’s look at this objectively. Was that the only time you’ve kissed? You’ve seen him since that night at the beach, right?”

“Yeah, we’ve seen each other a few times since then,” Skye said.

“And? What happened then?” Kara pressed.

“We kissed a couple of those times too,” Skye answered blushing.

“And was it you or him that suggested seeing each other again?” Kara asked.

Skye thought for a moment. “Both of us, I think? But when I met his boss a few days ago, he seemed weirdly reluctant for me to be there and kind of shooed me out quickly.” Skye paused. “Then again, he did surprise me the other night, showing up at the truck as I was closing down.” A dreamy look appeared on her face as she remembered spying his motorcycle parking near the truck as she was putting away everything in the truck. She hadn’t been expecting to see him for a few more days, but there he was, and they ended up spending the next two hours talking (and yes, a little kissing), long after the truck was secured for the night.

“So again, _why_ would you think he doesn’t like you? It seems like that would be a pretty big indicator.” Most of the time, Skye thought Kara’s insistence on logic was one of her best qualities. But when it was directed at her, piercing through walls of insecurity, it wasn’t the most comfortable. 

Skye fidgeted, searching for the right words. “Why would he?” she asked in a small voice. “It’s not like I’m all that accomplished compared to a Michelin starred chef.”

Kara didn’t reply but she got up from the floor and sat on the couch, perched next to Skye’s prostrate form. She waited until Skye made eye contact with her and then said fervently, “Because you’re amazing and fabulous and wonderful. Because you have built a seriously impressive business from the ground up with sheer grit and determination. Because you are kind and cheerful, to absurd degree sometimes, and always looking out for others. Because you deserve all the good things in this world. And frankly, he’s an idiot if he doesn’t.”

Skye’s eyes were slightly watery as she looked back at her friend. “Thank you.”

Her friend studied her more closely. “You must really like him, if you’re already this worried about what he thinks of you. Normally, you don’t pay much attention to other people like that,” she said thoughtfully.

Grimacing, Skye replied, “Uuuugghhhhh, I think I dooooooo. I think I might actually really like him. What is that about?!” A look of disgust expressed her feelings at that idea.

“Poor Skye,” Kara teased. “Getting a crush just like the rest of us.”

Skye thought about that for a minute. “I don’t even know if a crush is the right way to describe it. This isn’t just thinking he’s hot. I mean, _he is_ , but there’s something about him that makes me want to talk to him all night, to do everything I can to make him laugh, to shake that ridiculous scowl off his face, even for a few minutes. I can’t even think about the last time I felt like this. I’m not even sure if I ever have, even with Miles.”

Kara looked at her knowingly. “Oh babe, you’ve got it bad.”

Skye made a face. “Not helping.”

“What do you expect me to say?” Kara asked laughing. “You like him, he likes you, you two keep seeing each other. That’s kind of the point. Let yourself enjoy it.”

“But what if it doesn’t work out?”

“Then we eat a lot of ice cream and leave a pig corpse in his living room.” Kara was so matter of fact in her delivery that Skye was momentarily taken aback.

“I’m not sure if you’re joking or not.”

“It’s more fun that way.” Kara’s smirk was unabashedly wicked.

“Someday, Kara Lynn Palamas, you might have to put your money where your mouth is.”

“You say the word, and it’s done,” Kara said with a wink. “Now, any more sordid details you want to tell me? Like how many shades of brown you’ve detected in his eyes? Or if I’m going to start finding hearts drawn around doodles of ‘Mrs. Ward’ on the bathroom mirror?”

Throwing her head back in laughter, Skye shoved Kara off the couch. “Not a chance. Now are your nails dry enough for popcorn?”

“With gummy bears?” she asked from the floor.

“As if there was any other kind.”

* * * * *

_‘I had to restock blueberries.’_

Skye barked a laugh as she read the random and blunt text from Ward. 

_‘Did you now?’_ she answered.

_‘Yes. And they’re not cheap this time of year.’_

It wasn’t exactly a great conversation starter and she could practically imagine his disapproving expression, complete with furrowed brow and pursed lips. Yet, rather than feeling criticized, she smiled, because he was trying to connect with her again. _Maybe Kara is right…_ she thought.

_‘I think you’ll be okay, Mr. My-Restaurant-Is-Always-Packed-To-The-Gills.’_

It was meant as a joke, and she’d been sure it would be received as such. But as the minutes stretched out without a reply, worry crept in. Maybe she’d pushed it too far and he was actually offended now. 

Just as she was typing an apology text, her phone dinged with a reply from him.

_‘So…..what are we getting at the Farmer’s Market this week?’_

_‘That’s the fun of it. We get to find out along the way.’_

**Author's Note:**

> There you have Chapter 1!!! Again, I will be uploading the rest of the chapters once I have the story complete. I appreciate your patience with me. I'm hoping for just a few weeks (maybe a month?) until I have more to share with you. The document is already at 20,000 works and probably going to be 6 or more chapters, so it will hopefully be worth the wait. 
> 
> Feel free to come ask me questions or yell at me or whatever - either in a comment or over on tumblr. :D


End file.
